


The Only Good Deed

by Franzeska



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Consensual Snuff, Fanfiction, Multi, Necrophilia, Porn With Plot, Temporary Character Death, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franzeska/pseuds/Franzeska
Summary: Cable kills Deadpool a lot. It's hot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From the kink meme prompt: _"Cable killing Wade while they're fucking (i.e. doing something that would kill a regular person, but which Wade will obviously heal from): strangling him, snapping his neck, cutting his throat if you want to get messy ..._
> 
>  
> 
> _However it happens, whether Wade suggested it or they have rough fight sex and Cable goes too far, I'd like there to be some angst on Cable's side about getting off on what he just did."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> So warnings for... well... _that_.

There's a saying about good deeds that persisted into Nate's time. It was just as true in the past. Witness: one talking scrotum hanging upside down from the pipes in "their" new apartment. Nate was stuck because he didn't have any contemporary cash, and he wouldn't have wasted it on his living space if he did. Wade was stuck because the stupid fucker blew up his last place, and this was the only habitable and available apartment within walking distance of some bodega he was obsessed with. Nate had stayed in weirder places. Marginally.

"The Love Nest? No… Too pedestrian."

Wade swung back and forth. His knees were hooked over a pipe as thick as his forearm. The ceiling in this section of the room was low enough that his fingertips brushed the counter. Nate could see the gore on his gloves from whatever he had been doing earlier. Unhygienic, but there was no point in saying so. Nate hadn't asked where Wade spent the day but would almost certainly be burdened with knowing as soon as Wade got tired of trying to name the apartment.

"Love Shack? Love _Den_? The Bower of Bliss!" Wade's masked face swiveled back and forth. "No, too Renaissance. Clashes with the industrial chic."

Nate knew this term. He knew a lot more about the past now, most of it from Wade, and most of it fucking useless. This building had been a factory before it was broken up into apartments. The exposed, blackened bricks and low-hanging pipes felt familiar, but in this time, they apparently represent an 'aesthetic'. (Nate had not asked.)

"You break that pipe, I'm shoving it up your ass." Nate cracked another egg into the frying pan.

The stove had six burners and an exhaust hood. Ten people could sit at the counter and still have room for the cutting boards and the knife blocks. Nate boggled at so much wood just going to waste like this. The first two knife blocks were a satiny dark wood polished as smooth as the granite counters. Light glinted off of more shiny implements of death than even Wade could use to assault his ingredients.

(This theory had sadly already been put into practice four times since they'd moved in. Nate had only been in the past a month. His sanity might not make it to two.)

The third knife block was painted an uneven hot pink. It was stuffed full of these fiddly little flat blades with a dull edge. They weren't good for anything, but Nate knew better than to move them by now.

"Ooh, _all_ of it? Compensating for something?"

Nate flipped the eggs. There was something to be said for the past. Even this shithole of a neighborhood has a 24-hour supermarket. Muggers and people who like 'industrial chic' needed their midnight snacks too.

"It you'd enjoy it too much, I can come up with something worse," he said dryly.

The white eyes of the mask went wide. Wade clutched his dirty hands to his face and squealed like a girl. "Ooh! Best roommate ever!"

Nate slid the eggs onto a plate. He settled on a stool at the central island that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. He sliced into an egg. The far wall was all glass windows--now reinforced and filled with bulletproof glass. City lights twinkled outside, thousands of buildings filled with dumbfucks who didn't know how good they had it.

"Have you ever noticed how eggs kind of look like a head when it splats open?" Wade asked suddenly from behind his right shoulder. "People think it's all red, but there are the other gooshy parts too."

Nate hadn't even heard him move. Tricky fucker. The yolks were runny and perfect. What the hell kind of 'human' heads had Wade been splatting?

"Strong stomach, huh? Tummy of steel! Hey! Are you metal there too?"

Nate detached the hand from his abs and went back to eating.

"Let me see." A beat. "Please. _Pleeeeeease._ "

"Jesus, you're annoying." He put his plate in the sink. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Was that an invitation?" Wade called from behind him.

Running, potable water was another thing idiots in the past didn't appreciate enough, but it was the heat and the water pressure that really blew his mind. He let the shower pound the tension out of his shoulders. For those few precious minutes of quiet, he could forget the future bearing down inexorably. Inside of this fogged glass cocoon, he could imagine that this peace would last forever.

When he stepped out of the shower, his towel was missing.

The rest of the towels were gone too, along with his sweatpants and t-shirt and Wade's garish bathrobe. The only scrap of fabric left was a hand towel. It barely fit around Nate's waist. He opened the door. The cold apartment air rushed in, pebbling his skin.

Wade sat on the expansive leather sofa. Fifteen minutes ago, it had been over by the window; now, it faced the bathroom door. A long strip of carpet stretched between them.

"Daring, bad boy of the fashion world Rick Owens reveals his spring collection!" Wade said.

"Give me back my towel."

"It's official: The metrosexual model is out! Rough trade is in!"

Nate stalked towards him. "It's cold in here, you dumbfuck. I'm not walking around all wet."

Wade fanned himself. "I don't know, it seems pretty steamy to me."

Wade wore the bathrobe over his suit. A corner of fluffy, white towel peaked out from under his ass.

Nate made a grab for it. Wade flipped over the back of the sofa. "No, no, no. Don't go for off-the-rack. Not when you've finally gotten your big break!"

"Hand it over." He circled.

"This old thing?" Wade waved the towel. "Prêt-à-boring is so not you, darling! Just look at how that ensemble brings out your… _ass_ ets."

"You're looking at my dick, not my ass." He lunged for the towel.

Wade danced out of reach.

"For fuck sake."

"Softly structural terry cloth, with a peekaboo window…"

Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. Nate vaulted back over the sofa, Wade just out of reach. The dickhead was fast. Nate had forgotten the rug. His foot slipped. He crashed to the floor with Wade underneath him.

"Ooh, Mr. _Cable_. Is that for _me_."

They were both breathing hard. Wade's suit scraped against Nate's bare skin. "Why do you make everything hard?" Nate asked.

"Well, there's a very special time in a boy's life…" He wrenched himself to the side.

Nate toppled to the floor. _Nice try._ He yanked Wade back with his TK and got an arm around his throat. Let the little fucker break out of that.

"Ooh, be gentle." Wade's voice dropped to a breathy whisper. "My first time was supposed to be _special_."

"When I'm in the shower, you stay out."

Wade moaned theatrically and writhed against him.

"You got that?" He tightened his arm.

"Hurt me, Daddy."

"I said _you got that?_ "

Wade turned up the bad porn movie moaning. "Oh, right there, harder."

Nate squeezed. "I _said_ \--"

Something snapped.

"Wade?" He let go.

Wade slumped to the floor. Nate turned him over. The white eyes of the mask stared blankly at the ceiling. Nate became aware of the quiet hum of the heating unit kicking in. A car swished by outside. The sink dripped. He'd have to fix it tomorrow. He hated wasting water.

"Wade?"

He pulled off the mask. Wade's skin was pale, waxy. It was strange seeing his face so still. Even in the suit, he had expressive eyes. Now, they had the sunken, familiar look of a corpse.

Nate rubbed his hands on his thighs. He was still wet, and now cold.

The sink dripped again.

"Whoa!" Wade blew out a huge breath. He blinked his eyes rapidly--it turned into fluttering his eyelashes. "Was that as good for you as it was for me, big boy?"

Just like that, the color in his skin was back. And the animation. And the annoying fucking expression.

"Quit staring at my dick," Nate said. He picked up the towel.

"I'd give that a solid seven out of ten. Your line readings were _masterful_ , but the choreography was so 1980s homoerotic gorefest edited down to PG for television. Mister Falcon? I mean, come _on_. Who did they think they were kidding? Okay, technically, that was 1990, but that just goes to show the unwisdom of applying a mathematical term to an arbitrary cultural…"

Nate's pulse slowed. He scrubbed the worst of the water out of his hair.

Wade still sprawled on the floor. He'd gotten the mask back on at some point. His bathrobe was pulled up to cover his chest and he was pretending to smoke a cigarette. It wasn't actually lit: that was one roommate battle Nate had won. The only one.

"I'm just going to go… uh…" Nate gestured towards the corner where he kept his clothes in a duffel bag.

"Any time you want a rematch, baby," Wade purred, tapping imaginary ash.

_Freak._


	2. Chapter 2

Monday morning, 10 a.m.: Birds tweeted in the scraggly street trees--nothing special for this century, but still a marvel to Nate. A fresh breeze blew in off the water. The last of rush hour traffic was trickling away.

Nate whistled as he bounded up the steps of the loading dock. He hitched the bag of groceries higher on his hip; the key had wedged itself into the bottom of his pocket as usual. It would have been easier with his utility belt, but he wanted to blend in. Wade's incessant 'fanny pack' comments had nothing to do with it.

He'd picked up frayed jeans and a stack of hooded sweatshirts so worn that their old college logos were indistinguishable. Add a pair of gloves, and no one noticed a thing. Not that people were inclined to notice anything on a Monday morning, certainly not the sorry lot at the supermarket. So many fresh vegetables available, and they were still buying processed packages that wouldn't have been out of place in his own time.

The wooden gate of the freight elevator thumped down, and they began their slow ascent. Light filtered through the slats as they rose. Nate rolled his shoulders. First, he would cook breakfast: spinach and eggs, something light. And then a workout.

He stepped out into the apartment. The sun shone through the windows, blinding him, haloing the figure in light. Something crunched in the grocery bag. Nate set it on the counter before he squeezed it to death.

The figure hung in front of the window. The rope creaked as it twisted gently.

_Jesus, Wade._

Nate looked up at him. Wade had tied the rope around one of the cross beams in the ceiling. He was wearing the same soft cotton t-shirt and pajama pants he'd worn to bed. No mask. His mottled skin was golden in the light.

A kitchen stool lay knocked over at his feet. Nate righted it.

The knot bit into Wade's neck, slick and impossible to untie. In the end, Nate had to saw the rope in half to get him down. The asshole was heavy, awkwardly unresponsive. Nate dumped him on the bed. He flopped down next to him, head in his hands. It was a couple of minutes before he heard shuffling and a weak cough.

"You sound like you're going to huff and puff and blow my house down."

Nate looked over. The fucker was casually unwrapping the noose from around his neck. "Yeah? _You_ sound like you just sucked off a nailbat."

"Kinky!"

"What the hell was _that_ about?"

Wade looked charmingly perplexed for a moment. "Oh, this?" He held up the remains of the noose.

"No, I was going to ask about some other fucking thing."

"Aww, did someone wake up on the wrong side of the couch," he said. "You should sleep in the bed. I did offer to share."

"I _woke up_ just fine." He shook his head. "I was gone for an hour, Wade. An hour."

"Oh, it only takes a minute to hang yourself." Wade smiled. It was a genuine smile. Unnervingly sweet.

"Next time, you can get yourself down."

"Mmm. No, it didn't last long enough. I'll have to try something else."

He was still smiling, and he still hadn't put on the mask. Nate had rarely seen him this mellow. "I thought you couldn't die," Nate said.

"Not permanently, but sometimes, it's long enough to have a conversation."

"What, with death?"

"Not in this continuity." Wade laughed. "Oh, you do look grumpy. Are you sure you aren't going to huff and puff…" He trailed off, and his face went serious. "No, with Vanessa. I talk to Vanessa."

Nate made breakfast. He went for a run. He ignored Wade. This was what a normal day was for him now. The remains of the noose lay on the bed just in the corner of his eyesight. He ignored that too.

He went to bed. He got up. He went jogging again. He researched. There was always more research to do. He made Wade eat dinner. ( _Gummi worms are not dinner, Wade_.)

They sat at the kitchen island: in companionable silence in Nate's case and companionable contentless chatter in Wade's. The setting sun was brilliant red and orange through the smog. Nate closed his human eye to watch it.

"What makes it last longer?" he asked.

Wade broke off in the middle of an anecdote about Mexican food. "Now _that_ is a question that modern pharmacologia has been trying to answer for _years_." His eyes dipped to Nate's crotch.

"When you kill yourself, what makes it last longer?"

 _That_ shut him up. _Hah._

"It can't just be physical damage. I've seen you start to heal with steel rebar through your chest."

"I'm not sure," Wade finally said. "When I'm fighting, I _want_ to heal, the faster the better."

"You weren't fighting yesterday."

"Nah, but when you actually hang yourself, there's that moment when your body resists. I had to focus on not grabbing the rope. It was… distracting."

Nate did not push his food around his plate. That was a waste, and he did not waste food. He lifted a forkfull of something.

"Why?" Wade asked. "Did you want to help?"

The food scratched his throat on the way down. "What I _want_ is to stop coming home to a body dangling from the ceiling."

"Too Harold Chasen?"

"Look, if you're going to keep doing this, you could at least give me some warning."

"You _do_ want to help." Wade's eyes lit up.

He had the stupid mask off for once--he'd had it off for two days, in fact, still mellow from his date with his dead girlfriend. Nate would never allow himself to dwell in the past like that, but if it meant getting a little peace in the apartment, well… "Anything to shut you up," he said.

Wade chattered about it as Nate took a shower--keeping him out of the bathroom was futile. He chattered about it as Nate brushed his teeth and pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a sleep shirt.

"Aww, I was hoping for a little more skin." Wade draped himself over Nate's back.

Nate snorted. "Wouldn't want to make your girlfriend jealous."

"Ness would like you."

Nate had to wonder about the real Vanessa. His strange roommate had no mementos, no photos. All gone in the explosion, Nate assumed. The way Wade talked about her, she was some kind of saint and domestic goddess rolled into one. No woman that perfect would be dating Wade. Then again, he described a dozen television characters the same way, and Nate had mainly found them irritating.

"Get on the bed," he told Wade.

"I was hoping you'd toss me onto it, Tiger."

It was easier to just go with it. He scooped Wade up and carried him across the room to the enormous bed with its expanse of black sheets. ( _For the blood_ Wade had told him cryptically when he'd brought the sheets home.)

He pulled back the covers and laid Wade down. Wade was pale against the sheets. His eyes were wide, but not from fear.

"How do you want to do this?" Nate asked.

"Your hands."

"All right."

He leaned down and wrapped his human hand around Wade's throat. Wade's adam's apple bobbed.

"Scared?"

"No." Wade swallowed again. "Your other hand…"

The angle was awkward with his TO hand. Nate got up on the bed. He crouched over Wade. It was the best position for strangling a man lying on his back.

"This okay?"

Wade nodded. His hand came up to rest lightly on Nate's wrist.

"You want me to stop, you just say the word."

"I won't want you to stop."

"But if you do."

"Fine, apple. I'll say 'apple'. It's red… well, some of them are green, or even yellow. Maybe it should be 'banana'. Now that's a funny word."

"Apple is fine."

Nate stroked Wade's throat with his thumb. The pulse jumped under his palm.

"You sure about this?"

Wade looked irritated. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm _so_ sure, Mr. grumpy terminator. Do me with your metal--"

Nate squeezed.

Wade arched into it.

"Hold still." Nate leaned on his other hand for balance and slowly increased the pressure.

Wonder of wonders, Wade was trying to follow orders. He was terrible at it, but he was trying. He tensed and wriggled, and the more Nate bore down, the more unstable his seat got.

Nate gripped harder, Wade's tender flesh giving under the merciless assault of his techno-organic hand. Most people found the sensation unpleasant, the cognitive dissonance of metal that behaved like flesh too much for them. Wade whimpered, and his fingers tightened on Nate's wrist, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I said _hold still._ "

Nate seated himself more firmly, straddling Wade. "I'm going to use both hands."

Wade hummed something, a snatch of song that Nate didn't recognize.

Nate squeezed again. Harder. Harder.

Wade bucked. Their hips pressed together. He was hard.

Nate pressed down. Wade's erection rubbed against him. He ignored it.

Wade's chest heaved. His mouth opened. Nate leaned down to hear the tiny wheeze as he struggled for air. Nothing could get past the vice of Nate's fingers.

A flush moved up Wade's face. Tears were pooling in his eyes. He gripped Nate's wrists frantically.

Nate clamped his knees, trapping Wade's body against him. Wade was thrashing now, the instinctual response of prey facing a hunter it could not escape.

Tears spilled down Wade's cheeks, but it was no good: Nate only tightened his grip, restrained Wade with his body. Squeezed and squeezed and ground down against him.

"You're close," he murmured. "So close."

Wade's thrashing quieted. His hands spasmed once. Nate gazed deeply into his brimming eyes. They looked back desperately, frantically, and then not at all.

A final tear slid down his scarred cheek. Wade was gone. Nate let go.

He became aware that he was panting. Wade's erection was softening against his own. Nate was desperately hard. He shoved the pajama bottoms down. He was dark red, obscene, against pale skin and black sheets.

He jerked himself.

Wade stared at the ceiling. Dead again. At Nate's hand. He'd asked for it. He'd gotten off on it. He'd cried. His eyes had begged for mercy at the end, but Nate had not been merciful.

Nate came silently, striping Wade's still chest and vacant face with semen.


	3. Chapter 3

Whatever mysterious forces affected Wade's healing factor kept him out-- _dead_ , Nate's brain supplied--for longer this time. It could have been five minutes. It could have been ten. It felt like hours.

Nate dropped the washcloth in the trash and flipped on the lights over the kitchen island. They made a bright circle that blinded him to the rest of the darkened apartment. The stove ticked as it cooled. Nate fished the tea bag out of his cup and dropped it into the compost bin. He took a sip of his tea; it was bitter from oversteeping.

The sheets on the bed rustled. Wade made a soft, enquiring noise. Footsteps padded across the concrete.

"What, no post coital cuddling?"

Tea slopped over the side of the mug, scalding his knuckles. Nate hissed.

Wade laughed. "Jumpy, eh, Pumpkin?"

"What?"

"I can't call you 'Cable' all the time. It's so impersonal. So series title."

Nate gripped his cup. It was ceramic, glazed white. Black letters spelled out 'World's Best Grandpa'--Wade's idea of a joke. "Nathan," he told him. "Nate."

"Nathan Nate? That's your name? Man, your parents must have been worse than mine!"

Cable glowered at him. He felt his shoulders begin to unknit. "People call me Nate," he said.

"And you can call me Al," Wade replied.

Nate sipped his tea. It gave his hands something to do.

"Hey, we're on a first name basis now," Wade said. "Is this like the part of the telenovela where we swear our undying love and exchange friendship bracelets? The tutu thing?"

"Tuteo," Nate muttered.

Wade grinned like the asshole he was. It was the same expression he'd worn last week while cursing out a hired goon in fluent, and filthy, Spanish. He stretched his arms over his head, cracked his back, bent to touch his toes. The kitchen lights made a chiaroscuro artwork of his skin.

Nate reached out with his mind. _Contentment. Laughter, the smell of sweat._ Wade's mind was like an ocean breaking against rocks. _Toaster oven. Bagel. Cream cheese._ An impression of Nate's own face swam by, his features distorted in a snarl. A month had taught him not to try for more than the occasional surface emotion or stray thought, but Wade was unusually relaxed tonight. Bubbling under it all was a name. It bloomed up from the depths of Wade's mind like an anemone opening. Ness. Nessa. _Vanessa, Vanessa, Vanessa!_

"Your face is scary, Nate. Next you'll be beating up a hot chick in a wheelchair."

Nate drew his mind back. He knew better, damn it. If it wasn't food, it was obscure references Nate was only now beginning to understand after a month of forced exposure to Wade's TV habits. The mercenary appeared to have a sexual interest in elderly women, a bottomless fascination for the cuisine known as 'Tex-Mex', and an abject hatred of clowns. In every other way, he remained impenetrable. Nate's talent was worthless.

"What did Vanessa say?" Nate asked.

"Cryptic afterlife stuff." Wade draped himself on a stool. "Told me to move on. _Me._ Does she know me at all?"

"Can't live in the past," Nate said into his cup.

"That's rich coming from you, Mr. Somewhere in Time." He paused, apparently struck by something. He started to hum. It was another tune Nate didn't recognize, less rhythmic than his usual. Wade scrubbed his hands over his head. He paused and felt a spot again.

Nate fiddled with his mug.

Wade scratched at his scalp, sniffed his fingernails.

"What else did she say," Nate blurted out.

"Huh? Oh, just the usual couple stuff."

Nate wondered what 'usual couple stuff' was in this century and if Wade had any idea himself. He sat at the counter, staring into his mug until long after the tea had cooled and Wade had gotten bored and wandered off to bed.

Morning dawned with the tweeting of overenthusiastic birds and a shaft of sunlight directly in Nate's eyes. He turned over and pressed his face to the couch.

"Wakey, wakey," Wade called. "I'm making breakfast."

This dire pronouncement was enough to force him to his feet. "Pop tarts are not breakfast. Pop tarts are not food."

"Excuse you! _Toaster strudels_ are a divine food fit for a god."

"Not one I ever met," Nate muttered under his breath. He'd heard the lecture about sprinkles being a distraction technique and the purity of sugar frosting more than enough times. Wade's favorite strudeltarts still looked like someone had jacked off on them and tasted worse than any military rations he'd ever had to eat.

To his surprise, Wade had made them scrambled eggs and pancakes. The pancakes had frowny faces drawn on them in syrup.

"Why do they have fangs?" Nate asked, poking one with his fork.

"It makes them more evil. So you feel better about stabbing them." Wade plunged a knife into his stack. Red slime squirted out the edges.

Nate probed his own stack. The pancakes were layered with strawberry jelly. "Special occasion?"

"We've got a job. Well, _I've_ got a job. You could come too," Wade said casually. "If you wanted."

That's how Nate found himself crashing backwards through a warehouse window, five stories up. The grenade blew as they went over the edge. The suicidal goon who'd wrapped himself around Nate's shield splattered everywhere. The detonation felt like a punch in the gut; Nate let his shield flicker off. The fire escape whipped by. He threw out a hand. His shoulder gave a painful jerk, and he found himself dangling over the black chasm of the alley.

Security lights on the building opposite shone down on a maze of rusted girders and old machinery. Light glinted off of broken glass and wet chunks of ex-goon.

Overhead, another grenade exploded. Someone--Wade?--screamed in rage. Another body bounced off the fire escape and away into the darkness.

Nate let himself down carefully. His human arm protested. He'd have to set the shoulder before he'd be good to fight. He had to move slowly in the gloom, easing down onto each section of fire escape until he could slide down the final ladder to the ground below.

He rotated his arm. Slowly. Carefully. The fire spiked along his nerves, and it eased back into place. Nate slumped against the wall.

He was steeling himself to tackle the stairs again when he heard the footsteps. He ducked back into the shadows as a figure darted past.

"Nate? Nate? Ohgodnate?" Wade skidded to a halt in one of the pools of light. His boots squelched on something red and wet. He stood looking down at it. "Nate?" he called again, so quietly that Nate wouldn't have heard him from more than a couple of feet away.

"I thought you said this was going to be a simple smash and grab." Nate stepped out of the shadows.

The eyeholes of Wade's mask widened.

"Simple mission, my ass."

Wade took an unsteady step towards him. "Yeah, that was my bad." He patted Nate's chest. "Everything accounted for?"

"Did you get the package?"

"Yeah... I... Yeah."

"Then let's get out of here. You can feel me up later."

It wasn't till he was home, soaping himself up with some idiotic flowery bath scrub Wade had bought as a joke, that he realized he was still waiting for Wade's comeback. He stepped out of the bathroom, awkwardly toweling his hair.

Wade was curled up on the couch, still in his costume. He twitched when Nate put a hand on his shoulder.

"Bathroom's free."

"I'm good."

"That why you've finally shut up?"

"What? The grouchy terminator _wants_ me to speak?" Wade asked in something approaching a joking tone.

"You've got a good voice," Nate said.

It was hard to tell how Wade reacted under the mask. He made a point of stretching and wincing as he got up. "This couch is really uncomfortable. Seriously, you should have said something," he babbled. "You can have the bed. For your shoulder."

"Take a shower, Wade. You smell like a butcher shop."

Nate stretched out on the bed. It did help some. He let the white noise of the shower lull him into a half doze as he slowly tensed and released his shoulders. Having an unbalanced body was bad enough, but catching his entire weight on his human arm had left him a sore, aching mess. A couple of painkillers had dulled the worst of it, but Nate doubted he'd get a solid night's sleep, even in the bed.

The shower finally shut off while Nate was rearranging the pillows. The longer he twisted around, the less sleepy he felt.

"Building a pillow fort?"

Nate looked up to see Wade standing at the foot of the bed in his bathrobe, his mask, and an enormous fluffy towel twisted around his head. Bastard could move quietly when he wanted to.

"Just trying to get comfortable," Nate said.

"I hear massage can do wonders for your… tension. There are some friendly ladies just down the block." It was a weak shadow of his usual tone. 

Nate snorted. "I'd need a massage therapist, not a reminder of your century's economic disparities."

"I could try," Wade said.

 _Which one?_ Nate almost asked him, but it didn't sound much like a joke for once. It was hard to read Wade tonight. Nate had gotten used to him going without the mask when they were at home. It was strange to see him in it now.

"Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out."

Nate stretched out on his stomach. The bed dipped, and Wade straddled him. He ran his hands down Nate's spine to start, just testing the waters. The rough texture of his fingers raised goosebumps on Nate's skin. He explored the edges of Nate's deformity where the virus was eating into his flesh. Then, gently, he began to knead: smooth, confident pressure that Nate felt down to his toes. His hands were strong.

Nate groaned and settled further into the bed.

Wade fingers explored slowly, starting with Nate's shoulders and working down the delicate muscles in small of his back to his glutes. It took Nate several blissed-out seconds to realize he'd stopped.

Wade's bathrobe was scratchy against Nate's bare skin. The skin of his legs felt strange, still wet from the shower and oddly textured. He was breathing fast, muffled through the mask.

Nate made an unhappy noise.

The pressure started up again, deep and wonderful. His glutes started to relax. The pressure was just right. Wade dug his thumbs in, spreading him. He paused again. A thumb slid down his crack. It circled his entrance and dipped inside. It froze.

Nate lay there listening to Wade's breathing. "I'd rather see your face," Nate said after a minute.

Wade got off of him, and he turned over. Wade was sitting back on his haunches, the bathrobe falling open to reveal a flash of thigh.

"Your actual face."

Wade's shoulders were tense under his fingers. He slid the mask off, then the bathrobe. Wade's eyes showed almost as much white as the mask.

"This what you want?" Nate asked.

"Fuck, yes."

Nate kissed him. Wade's face was tense when he pulled back. "Doesn't seem like a yes," Nate said.

"You sure you wouldn't rather…" He reached for the mask.

Nate batted it away. "We're either doing this properly or not at all."

"Yeah, okay… uh… I've got stuff…"

Wade turned away to fumble in a bedside drawer. It was full of bottles, all different types of personal lubricant, Nate guessed. Wade pushed him back against the pillows and sicked him up inside and out.

Wade's rough fingers scraped against his sensitized rim, up over his balls, along his hardening cock. The stuff was slippery and cool. On him. In him. The fingers stopped. Nate ground down, and Wade went back to rubbing him. The texture of his fingers was like nothing Nate had encountered. Maddening. Not fast enough. Not _enough_.

"Come on," he growled the fourth time Wade paused. "What the fuck are you waiting for?"

"Pushy, pushy," Wade said, but he finally got with the program. He lined himself up and pressed in.

Nate would have been embarrassed by the noise that came out of his mouth if his brain hadn't been entirely offline. Wade was somebody he knew. Somebody he lived with now. He didn't think about the scars, usually. He hadn't thought about them till those strange fingers were on him. He'd thought about Wade's face and his neck and his tears. He hadn't thought to wonder about Wade's cock.

It was fat and roped with scars. Nate stretched around it. It had been a long time, and never with… _Jesus_.

Wade was like a fucked up dildo: harder than a regular cock, ridged and strange in his ass. Nate hooked a leg around his back and tried to grind down harder.

"Whoa there, tiger," Wade said. He put a hand on Nate's hip, steadying him--denying him friction. "I know my frosted flakes are Grrrr--"

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me!"

Wade laughed.

He didn't get any faster, _the bastard_. He thrust shallowly, carefully, his scars rubbing everywhere. Nate tried to buck up against him, but the angle was all wrong. He'd forgotten how much he liked the feeling of being full. Almost too full. And Wade was something else, something special. Something that was going to drive him _insane_ if he didn't get some more of it _right now_.

Nate took hold of the headboard, wrapped a leg around Wade again, and flipped them.

They came crashing down, Wade's cock forced up inside him as deep as it would go. He grunted.

"You okay, baby?"

Nate glared. "I'm going to punch you if you don't fuck me very hard and _very thoroughly._ "

"God." Wade's hips jerked.

"Even he won't be able to help you if you just came."

Wade chuckled. "No, but my healing factor can. Give me a second." He reached down.

Nate felt Wade's fingers skim along his cock to where it disappeared into Nate's body. Wade tried to slide his thumb in alongside, but Nate was stuffed too full.

"Okay. All systems go. We have liftoff."

"Did you just compare your dick to a rocket?"

"Well, it _is_ pretty stellar. Stellar… Stars..." Wade gripped his hip again. "God, you should go into porn."

Nate rode him. Wade was hard again--or still--it was hard to tell just by the texture. It had been good before, but the new angle was phenomenal.

Wade panted under him. He ran a hand up Nate's TO side. The living metal shuddered at the sensation. "Fuck, you are so hot." Wade threw his head back, exposing the long, gorgeous curve of his neck. 

Nate rocked wildly.

Wade gasped. His face was flushed. Red. Red like…

Nate desperately thought about his hands, his cock, something--anything--else.

Wade gasped again. The muscles in his jaw worked.

Nate's hand clenched convulsively on his own thigh. He thought about breakfast. Wade stealing the towels. Wade hanging from-- He clenched around the magnificent cock in his ass and felt Wade come.

"Oh fuck. Sorry. Sorry."

Nate looked down at him incredulously. Orgasm ebbed away. Wade slipped out, leaving him empty.

"Sorry." Wade sounded sheepish. "I can blow you…"

"What happened to your healing factor?"

Wade's eyes widened in mock fear. "Ooh, you are pissed. Fine, we can go again, but you're going to have to give me a little help."

"Yeah?"

"It'll be easy."

"Damn it, Wade. I--"

"Slap me."

His brain stuttered to a stop. "Excuse me?"

"Hit me. In the face. With your open palm." Wade looked up at him calmly. "In your current mood, it shouldn't be difficult."

Nate swallowed.

"No slappy-slap, no fucky-fuck. You'll have to find another carousel pony to--"

Nate slapped him.

Wade's head snapped to the side. He blinked slowly, felt around his cheek with his tongue.

Nate felt jittery.

"Again. On the other side."

Again his head snapped to the side. Again, Nate felt a rush of something unspeakable. Wade's cheeks were reddened. A glimmer of moisture shone in his eyes.

"Getting there," Wade said, pressing his half-hard cock against Nate's ass. "I'm going to need a little bit more help, Natey."

"Don't call me that."

"Nate-i-kins. Nate-i-poo." Wade grabbed Nate's TO hand, pressing it to his lips. "Sugar dumpling!" Another kiss. "Honey bear!"

"Wade!"

Wade grinned obnoxiously and tugged Nate's hand to his neck.

Nate stared at it: His own big, monstrous metal fingers against Wade's delicate throat. The TO nerves were different, the softness of Wade's skin heightened, some things dulled. If only he could have blamed the TO for everything else.

"Come on, big boy: Sada Abe me! Uh… minus the memento thing. I don't think I'm into that. Probably. Maybe. Say, what do you think of Franco-Japanese cinema, Nate?" His gaze started to wander. He was getting distracted.

Nate clenched his fist.

Wade's dick twitched. "That's it," he said, his attention back where it belonged.

Nate released him a little, then tightened his grip. Loose. Tight. Loose. Tight.

"Good. Good." Wade guided his stiffening cock into Nate again. He began to move--a slow, hypnotic rocking that inflamed Nate without satisfying.

Nate leaned forward, braced himself with his bad arm. It screamed at him, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of being full. He clenched his hand more firmly around Wade's neck and was rewarded with a frantic thrust.

That was good. That was right. He eased off a little, soothed a bruise with his thumb--soothed it and then pressed his thumb into it.

Wade moaned.

"You going to stay hard for me this time?"

"Yes, fuck, just keep doing that." Wade laid his hand over Nate's, urging it tighter.

"This is just to help you." He squeezed. "With your little problem."

"I'll bet it doesn't feel so 'little' right now, Mr. tightass," Wade ground out.

Nate released his neck.

"No, no." He grabbed at Nate's hand. "Okay, yes, I need help. I'm the poster child for erectile dysfunction. Wait, that's a terrible phrase to use with-- No, don't go away! I do need your help. I need all of your help. Na-aaate."

Nate put his hand back. "This time, you're going to keep it up until you make me come."

"Yes, Dad."

That deserved a harder squeeze.

"Aye, aye, Sir?"

"You are the single most obnoxious--"

He squeezed again. Wade's eyes rolled back in his head. He arched and moaned, his breath gusting out in great puffs every time Nate let up.

Nate rocked faster, timing his squeezes to get Wade bucking just right.

"Save a horse…" Wade mumbled. "Sheesh, is that the best you can do?"

Nate rolled his hips.

"Maybe I'll take a nap."

"Listen up, you foul-mouthed, insolent, self-absorbed _sex toy_. You're here for one thing and one thing only: to get me off."

Wade's hand was like a vice on his thigh.

"You don't get off till I do. You don't move until I tell you. You don't _breathe_ without me telling you to."

He clamped down.

He was so close. He could feel the orgasm building, just out of reach. Wade's cock pistoned inside of him. He was almost there. Just a little more.

He brought his aching hand to his cock, unsteady, jerking it violently.

His TO arm was the only thing keeping him up, all of his weight pressing down on Wade's neck, his hand clenching and relaxing as he rocked back onto Wade's cock.

He looked into Wade's warm, brown eyes. He needed more. He needed-- Nate reached out instinctively.

_Hot, yes, good, harder. Please, please, please. I can take it. I can--_

Wade's mind exploded with the white heat of his orgasm. Supernovas of firing neurons lit up his dying brain. His body fought till the last: a long spiral of begging and whispered entreaties that Nate followed down into the dark, drinking in every whimper, every scrap of terror, every plea to not let this be the end.

Nate came and came and came.

He crouched, panting. Wade's cock was still inside him, but his mind held a gaping cavity where Wade had been.

He unclenched his hand. His fingers came away bloody. He'd gripped so hard he'd crushed Wade's larynx and broken his neck. He rolled off of him. Wade was a limp, crumpled form in the bed, all of his animation gone. Nate gathered him up. He cradled Wade's cheek in his hand, smearing him with his own blood and not caring.

_Oh god. I didn't mean it._

 

_Wade._

 

Wade blinked. He rubbed his cheek on Nate's hand.

"You okay," Nate asked him. His voice sounded like sandpaper.

"Y… yeah." Wade's neck finished rebuilding itself with a crack. "Yeah. Wow."

"Do you want… Can I get you something?"

Wade smiled lazily. "Nope. You're not getting away that easily. Now that you've had your wicked way with me, I demand cuddling. No arguments!"

Nate swallowed. "All right, no arguments."

Wade tucked his head under Nate's chin and wrapped an arm around him. Nate fell asleep to the sound of Wade's breathing and the feeling of his heartbeat against Nate's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the random shit Wade says is pretty obvious, I think, but if you're confused by the Franco-Japanese cinema or anything else, feel free to ask.


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday morning, a week later, Nate woke to the sound of a rhythmic thump. Eight hits, evenly spaced, then a pause. The sound of a blade being wrenched free--Nate would know it anywhere--then another eight hits.

He slowly opened his eyes and stretched. The bed was certainly more comfortable than the couch. His TO side only gave the slightest of twinges. They'd fucked the night before: normal, clean, healthy sex that left his muscles loose and relaxed. He'd enjoyed it. It was good. It was fine.

Nate sat up. His sweatpants were draped carefully over a chair beside the bed. He put them on. The thumping noises continued, steady as before.

Nate stood. Late morning sun filtered in through the window. He was getting soft.

From where he stood, he could see the empty kitchen counter and the wall of the bathroom. The noise continued. Nate stepped away from the bed. It took three steps to see beyond the wall to the entryway.

Wade spun, his muscles bunching under his scarred skin. A knife flashed from his hand to bury itself in the far wall with a thunk. He turned and grabbed another blade from the knife block. Spin, release, twist grab. Another blade buried itself in the wall. Three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Nate waited until he was done with this round to approach. Wade panted. The muscles of his back bunched under his sweaty t-shirt. The hot pink knife block sat at his feet, empty now of blades.

Wade looked up as he approached. His eyes gleamed. It wasn't a smile, Nate thought. More like mania. It disturbed him, not that there was any point in saying so.

"All right there?" he asked.

"Never better." Wade bounced over to the wall.

He moved with a youthfulness Nate could only envy--and barely remember. The knives were buried an inch deep in the wall. Wade had to work them loose. He wiped each one on his shorts, then returned them all to the knife block.

"I'm impressed," Nate told him. "Didn't think those things would be useful."

"You'd be surprised." Wade bared his teeth. That one might have been a smile.

He stood there while Wade threw them again. All eight thudded into a new patch of wall. Not the drywall. The meaty thunk suggested Wade had found one of the wooden studs underneath. Most of the apartment was exposed brick from the building's days as a warehouse. Wade had chosen one of the few new walls for his target practice. From the number of holes, he'd been at it a while before Nate woke. Odd. Nate was normally a light sleeper, and he couldn't have called last night restful. Too many strange dreams.

"We doing anything today?"

Wade shrugged.

"You got any jobs lined up?"

"Bored of the domestic life already?"

There was that non-smile again. Nate scrubbed a hand through his hair. "You got a problem, Wade, just come out and say it."

"There _was_ a job," Wade said, which wasn't an answer. "Small time. Bad pay."

"Yeah?"

"Not really worth it. But if you're bored…?"

Nate shrugged. They fought well together. It would be refreshing to get out of the apartment.

 

The fighting, at least, hadn't changed. Wade cackled as he spun, skewering one of the thugs charging Nate. Nate shot another off of Wade's back. The violence was clean, freeing. It was nice not to have to think beyond the next minute.

Nate slashed, shot, spun. Blood sprayed out around him. It gushed from bullet wounds. It coursed through his veins and pulsed in his cock. His body fizzed with energy, and every minute or two, he caught sight of Wade and the way Wade's own cock pressed against his suit.

They were down by the docks. They hadn't even needed to travel to find this set of scumbags. Sex traffickers. Slavers. _Jesus_ , Nate hated this century sometimes. All that potential squandered on traumatized refugees in a shipping container, some destined for back-breaking labor, others for labor on their backs. _You have clean water_ , he wanted to shout. Instead, he skewered the last of the thugs and let him drop.

Wade was already opening the container. "Ooh, what's behind door number one?" he asked.

The smell rolled over Nate. Unwashed bodies. Open latrines. _Jesus._

"Come on," he told them in Cantonese. "We're getting you out of here." Enough understood. There were too many extant languages for Nate to learn them all. He was trying, starting with the big ones, but even for a telepath, it took time. He tried to project a feeling of peace. It was a delicate balance with refugees: too much, and their minds would reject it.

Nate flinched as a woman brushed past him and he caught a whiff of being held down. Men. Sweat. Pain. She spit on one of the dead thugs, then kicked him in the groin. Nate steadied himself against the side of the container. Sick bastards, all of them. He forced the nausea down.

"I could go for a beef chow mein," Wade said, strolling up to him. He hummed a few bars of some tune.

"We need to contact the proper authorities," Nate said.

"Yeah, but then dinner?"

"Whatever you want."

 

It was three in the morning by the time they got home. They'd stopped at a Chinese place on the way. Nate hadn't eaten anything. The smell of grease blended with the smell of the shipping container until all he could see was those faces, as afraid of them as of their captors. _Better the devil you know_ \--another phrase that had lasted through the centuries to Nate's time. Or was _this_ his time? The longer he stayed, the more confused he got, but he couldn't regret using his last charge.

Wade sat on the stool next to him, swinging his legs and singing that same song about beef chow mein over and over.

It was late--early--but Nate felt the tension pulsing through him in waves. Wade too. He was like a live wire after a job, and tonight was no exception. The scotch didn't help. It burned a line of fire down Nate's throat and left him itching for something. He glanced over.

Wade had the mask flipped half up to expose his mouth. He couldn't have been able to see a fucking thing with it like that, but he seemed to like it. He'd probably have showered in the suit if he could have gotten away with it. He shoveled in the last of the chow mein. Then he noticed Nate watching.

"What, they don't have chopsticks in The Future?" he asked. "Tell me they at least have hover skateboards."

"What's a skateboard?"

Wade rolled his eyes heavenward. Not that Nate could see his eyes under the stupid mask, but the dramatic head roll made it obvious. "That's it. I'm revoking your membership to the 21st Century. Just climb back on your time watch doohickey and go back to your worst timeline with all the breast implants."

"Breast implants?"

"You know!" Wade mimed. "Jugs. Tatas. Silicone-enhanced funbags."

Nate shuddered. "I can't see the appeal."

"The size! The potential flotation devices! The uncomfortable incestuous vibes!"

Incestuous? Nate wasn't going to ask. This century was fucked up. "I like a person to feel like a person," he said.

The silence lasted for an eternity, or at least over ten seconds. Nate looked over to find Wade poking holes in his takeout box with one of his chopsticks.

"You're getting grease on the counter."

Wade rolled his eyes--or at least his head--again. "Seriously, though: we could try to repair the doohickey."

Nate shook his head. "I wouldn't know where to begin. The energy requirements alone…"

"Guess you'll have to make the best of it then." Wade smiled crookedly under the mask. "What do you say we go make the best of tonight?"

"All right."

Nate shucked his clothing. He dropped his shirt and pants into the hamper. The luxury of wearing clothes only once was one of the many pleasures of this era. The bed sheet were smooth and soft on his back.

Wade stood back, watching him, the mask and suit still firmly in place.

"You coming or not?" Nate demanded.

"Depends on you, Big Boy."

"Lose the clothing," Nate said.

He gripped his stiffening cock with his TO hand, and was rewarded with the usual hitch in Wade's breath. Nate would have just as soon used his normal hand, but it hadn't taken more than a couple of fucks to realize Wade had a major thing for his metal parts. He showed off, jacking himself slowly.

Wade swayed closer, like he didn't realize he was doing it.

It was like he had a magnetic attraction to dick, Nate thought. He gave great head too. That was mostly what they'd done, that and hands. It had a pleasant familiarity from Nate's many nights in someone's bedroll, still coming down from a fight or gearing up for one. You stuck to basics at times like that: saved the acrobatics for the battlefield.

"You know the rules," Nate said. "No mask."

Wade huffed and finally took it off. He licked his lips. "What are we going to do tonight, Brain?" he asked.

"Whatever you like." It was a better term of endearment than 'pumpkin' at least, but Nate wasn't feeling smart tonight, just violent.

"Yeah? Anything?"

"Sure. You want to fuck me or something?" His cock twitched at the memory.

Wade looked at him for a minute. "Or something."

Wade's hand was clammy, cold with lube. Nate hissed as it wrapped around his cock. But Wade was smiling. That single-minded attention went right to Nate's gut every time. It burned there now with the scotch and the remains of his combat high. He put the refugees out of his mind and reached for Wade.

"Oh no, no hands," Wade said. "I want the whole enchilada. And _what_ an enchilada it is. Practically a burrito. Not a chimichanga--one of those fat California ones."

Nate tuned him out.

"You know you can just stick it in, right?" Wade said. "It's not like it's going to hurt for more than a second if you tear something."

Nate continued fingering him.

"C'mon, I'm falling asleep here."

"Appreciate easily available commercial lubricants while you can," Nate told him.

"I can think of a better use for those hands," Wade said. He tugged Nate on top of him.

Wade was a solid wall of muscle under him, warm, pulse beating frantically against Nate's skin. He felt nice.

"Come on. Don't be boring." Wade tugged at him again.

He stared down at Wade's neck. At his hand on Wade's neck. At Wade's own hand on his wrist. He felt it in his stomach: a strange hot-cold mixture of the last time and of that woman. He'd caught other flashes from the refugees. No matter how tightly he shut himself off, something always got through.

"Nate?"

"I… maybe we should just sleep." He rolled over. He felt a flash of surprise from Wade, quickly smothered. When he reached out, there was only static.

Nate woke up, bleary-eyed and grumpy. Contrary to popular belief, the latter wasn't his default state. The apartment was quiet, so Wade was out somewhere. Nate stumbled to the kitchen and made himself coffee. He turned the shower all the way up and let the heat pound the knots out of his shoulders. It wasn't till he was sorting through his meager collection of t-shirts afterwards that he realized his duffel bag was gone.

Wade disclaimed any knowledge.

"No one else ever comes in here," Nate told him.

"You don't know that. I could be having all kinds of people over."

"When? While I'm out jogging, dipshit?"

"You have to move fast when you're paying by the hour…"

Nate threw up his hands.

It wasn't that the bag was important. It was a simple black duffel bag, about four feet long, synthetic material. Last time he'd seen it, it had contained a couple of shirts, his worse pair of sweatpants, and most of his underwear. Most of his tech was in another duffel. Everything else was in the hamper. Nate did the laundry.

"Seriously, asshole, you'd better not have dumped it somewhere."

"Dumped it? Why would anyone dump a perfectly good bag full of manly underwear that smell like _man_?"

Nate eyed him. Today, Wade was bouncing around the kitchen with twice his usual energy, singing one of his annoying songs. His expression was invisible behind the mask. Even by Wade standards, his mind was an unreadable mess, no hint of where he'd hidden the bag.

"Wade…"

"You could put up notices! Like for someone's cat. _'Lost, musky man clothing. Gray with gray and also gray. Generous reward.'_ "

"For fuck sake."

Wade scooped up his hideous pink knife block and went back to destroying the wall. Nate went jogging and tried not to notice the prostitutes on the corner. It wasn't like Wade could _catch_ anything from them. And it had obviously been a lie. Nate was never out for long. They'd barely been apart since he'd arrived in the past. The girls looked cold as he jogged past.

Wade's manic mood had not improved.

"Quit stealing the covers and hold still," Nate told him. "Christ, you're as bad as a toddler."

"Maybe you should make me."

That was probably supposed to be an eyebrow waggle behind the mask. It was hard to tell.

"I just want to sleep."

"We all want things, Big Boy. Life is full of disappointments."

Nate sighed. "If I suck your dick, will you shut up and let me sleep?"

"If a blow job makes someone _quieter_ , you're doing it wrong, Natey."

Jackass.

"You'd have to do a little better than that."

"I'm not risking your teeth in the mood you're in."

"Aww. I wouldn't hurt you, Snugglemuffin."

Nate pulled a pillow over his face.

"Now, see, _there's_ an idea," Wade said in his ear. "Or a belt. Or that ridiculous hipster scarf of yours. I'll bet it's soft."

It was soft. He could picture it wrapped around Wade's throat, Wade with his head thrown back on Nate's shoulder, his chest heaving in the mirror--they'd need a mirror. Nate pushed that image firmly down.

"It's late, I'm tired, and I don't have time for your nonsense, Wade," he said.

"And you used to be so fun!"

"You've always been a pain in the ass."

"I'll bet I could get the girls down the block to do it."

Nate's peripheral vision went blotchy. It was a good thing he wasn't his father: he'd have burned a hole through the wall. _The girls down the block. The girls down the block._ They were skinny. Miserable. Blue with cold in their outfits. No one with a body like Wade's--with a body count like Wade's--could find them frightening. He had the sleek build of a predator, especially now, staring Nate down with the enigmatic eyes of his mask. Never mind that Nate had curled up on the edge of the bed: he could feel those eyes on his back. Even _Nate_ hadn't been able to kill Wade. He'd barely been able to take him down. What kind of stupid asshole would just go up to the nearest prostitute… Was that what Wade was into? Paying for it? Some stranger he wouldn't have to wake up next to? Somebody who'd just go through the motions?

He turned over. "You seriously think some half-starved immigrant forced into a life of massage parlor work or freezing to death on the street is going to risk getting arrested for you?"

"If she gets a look at my face, yeah, probably." Wade's twisted smile was visible even through the mask.

"For fuck sake, Wade!"

An image surfaced in his brain of some girl half Wade's age, her lip turned up in disgust as she carefully wrapped a scarf around his neck and tried not to touch his skin. Nate's scarf, maybe, while he was out jogging. Nate's scarf that had been in the duffel bag. He pulled the pillow more firmly over his head and tried to sleep.

That wasn't the end of the conversation, of course.

"Come on. It'll be fun. You look like you want to punch me right now."

Nate's erection strained against his pants. He knew Wade was looking at it. Even with the mask, his gaze burned.

"Or are you not _man enough_." Wade stepped up into Nate's space. He cupped his hand around Nate's cock.

Nate clenched his hands on the edge of the countertop.

"Jesus, you really are a pussy sometimes," Wade said, letting him go. "It's not like we haven't done it before." He adjusted the strap on his gun, waiting.

Nate watched as Wade bent to adjust an ankle holster. The curve of his back was stiff with tension but graceful as always. He hadn't asked Nate to go along this time. He hadn't even brought it up.

"I'll be back on Thursday. We'll see what you're… _up_ for then," Wade said in his fake cheerful voice. The door shut behind him.

Nate spent the day sitting at the counter, drinking tea until the caffeine jitters got so bad he could barely hold the cup. He wondered what job Wade had taken and how far he'd have to go. This was the longest he'd been away since they'd met.

He slept poorly. His morning jog left him sore and headachy. He jerked off mechanically in the shower and made a mug of his new herbal tea. The radio blared what this century called music: rhythmic, synthesized shit wailing on about bad blood and petty romantic concerns. He let the noise fill the apartment.

It wasn't that he _couldn't_. Anybody could slap their partner around. Big, small, male, female. There were days Nate wished he weren't a telepath. Wade at least was a slimy tangle of nothing much: a staticy and welcome void in the sea of pain and stupidity.

Nate could picture it. Hell, he could remember it. He'd never be able to _stop_ remembering it. It didn't make him a _pussy_. Fuck Wade anyway and his manipulative crazy fucking ideas. Just because he missed Vanessa…!

But Nate couldn't delude himself: What _wouldn't_ he do if their positions were reversed? He'd knelt in his own burnt-out apartment and felt the impotent rage and the pain that wouldn't end. He'd traded on that feeling to get Wade's help. This… this _addiction_ was his own fault. He'd have to feed it if he wanted any peace.

Fuck Wade anyway. Nobody called Nate a coward. Or bad in bed. Nate snarled and hit the punching bag again. The other guys in the gym edged away. It was the kind of dark, nasty little hole in the wall their neighborhood was full of. Nobody asked about his arm.

The gym was next to a bail bondsman, three bars, each dingier than the last, and a hardware store. Nate stared in its dusty window and thought.

He had to liberate a ladder from the construction site down the block. It wasn't difficult at night, not for him.

The eye bolts went into the cross beams on the ceiling, fifteen feet up. The chains went through the eyes and down to a winch on the wall. He tested them, swung on his full weight. They would hold Wade. He put up the line of anchors that would attach the mirror to the wall. These too would need to be tested. There were other things he needed. Specialty items. Weeks of listening to Wade's increasingly perverse monologues gave him ideas, but he would need to travel. This neighborhood with its massage parlors and cheap porn shops didn't have anything of the appropriate caliber.

Wade didn't come back on Thursday. He didn't come back on Friday. He walked through the door at ten a.m. Saturday morning with a cheery "Luuucy, I'm home!"

His mind hummed with contentment, in direct contrast to Nate's own. He radiated relaxation, satiation. The unmistakable feeling of a man who'd gotten laid.

Nate heard him shuffling around, dropping items near the door--the thud of boots being kicked into the wall. The scuff marks wouldn't show much next to all the knife holes, but Nate still narrowed his eyes in irritation.

Wade thundered into the bathroom. Nate could hear him shucking off the suit. He left the taps running while he did it. Wasteful. Nate tensed as the door opened again.

"Hey, Nate, are you here? I've got to tell--" Wade's voice cut off abruptly when he felt the knife at his throat. His body went tense, like a coiled snake.

"I've been waiting for you," Nate told him. He pressed the knife down just a little and felt Wade relax.

"Yeah?"

"About my bag..."

"Your… Oh. _Oh._ Are you going to _interrogate_ me?" Wade's voice shot up in delight. He tried to turn and nicked himself.

"Face forward," Nate told him. "I'll ask the questions."

"Fuck yes," Wade said. "But first--"

Nate dragged him the rest of the way around the corner. The manacles dangled in the air in front of them. Nate's tools were laid out neatly on the bed, each blade and implement shining against the black sheets. He felt it the minute Wade spotted them. Pleased surprise rippled through him.

"Wow. Is all this for me? You shouldn't have!"

"Probably, but someone has to see you get what you deserve."

 _That_ reaction hit Nate like a sucker punch. He nudged Wade forward again to the manacles and closed them over his wrists. He tested them. They were tight. Too tight for a dislocated thumb to enable escape. Tighter than was medically advisable--but then none of this was medically advisable.

The mirror on the wall reflected back an image of them: Wade in a faded t-shirt and shorts, Nate looking grim in his black t-shirt and black cotton pants. _For the blood,_ he thought.

Wade twisted around, his hands by his head. "You know these are too long, right?" he asked. "They're… like… _you_ height. I mean, I guess it's easy to forget when you're practically a midget…"

Nate picked up the spreader bar from the bed. He kicked Wade's ankles apart, then knelt to fasten them onto it. It was wider than Wade's normal stance, forcing him uncomfortably spreadeagle. The chains at his wrists pulled up.

"Wow, you really went all out," Wade said, craning his neck to look at the bed.

Nate adjusted the winch. The chains pulled higher till Wade's arms stretched helplessly above his head. Nate stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Dungeon-y," Wade said. He was still trying to get a look at the bed. His own body blocked the view in the mirror. "Listen, Nate…"

Nate picked up a knife. He tested it against his thumb. "I have questions," he said.

"Don't we all? Like how did they manage to leave Bea off of-- _hey,_ I like this shirt!"

Nate ignored him. The knife sliced the fabric easily. He peeled the ugly t-shirt away from Wade's skin. He sliced through the opposite side and then the neck. Wade's incongruous board shorts-- _in this weather?_ \--were next. Nate dropped the mess on the floor. He pulled off the mask.

"Hey!"

"The better to tell if you're lying to me," Nate told him and dropped it on top of the other clothing.

Wade licked his lips.

Nate lifted the knife till it caught the light. He watched Wade's eyes follow it. Wade's tiny underwear--red, with pink hearts of all things--left little to the imagination. He was starting to be interested. Nate gripped him through the fabric. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked. "Don't worry: it won't last."

Wade's dick twitched in his grasp. "You had questions?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm looking for a certain item."

"Yeah?"

"A bag. Black. Synthetic material. About four feet long."

"Doesn't sound familiar."

Nate gave him a squeeze. "I'll give you some time to think about it."

He made himself tea. Chamomile. It was surprisingly soothing even with Wade cursing in the background. Pity Wade's mind wasn't as easy to ignore: _That_ was busy laughing, probably at Nate. He rinsed out his mug and put it in the draining board.

"Naaate."

Wade was only half hard and all annoyed. Nate put on his blandest expression. He crossed behind Wade to pick up another knife. "About those questions…"

"I don't know anythiii--" Wade's voice rose abruptly. "Jesus, warn a guy!"

Nate examined the cut. One inch, not deep, just above Wade's left nipple. He brushed his fingers over it, smearing the blood. Then he made a second incision, an inch below.

"Fuck!"

Wade wasn't annoyed now, or laughing, or distracted. Nate felt him snap to attention as he cut: Ten slow little cuts, each as perfectly parallel as he could make them. The first one had already closed by the time he finished the last, but the lines of blood stayed on Wade's skin to remind him. He trailed bloody fingers down Wade's chest, stroked over his groin. "The bag?" he asked, mildly.

"Nuh uh, Mr. terrorist. I am a true American patriot!"

Nate rolled his eyes. "Aren't you Canadian?"

He began on the other side, deeper this time. He found that if he dug his fingers into the cuts, they took longer to close. He experimented, finally pulling free as Wade's flesh tried to reform around him. He wiped the blood off on Wade's side.

"That tickles."

"You can end this any time. Just tell me where the bag is."

"What bag?"

This time, he let Wade stew for an hour while he went shopping. It was a miracle to him that Wade hadn't starved to death living on his own. Or died of food poisoning. Nate evicted something that had once been yogurt from the fridge and replaced it with a fresh carton of milk, eggs, and three bunches of kale. He checked the freezer. The ice was ready.

"Nate. _Nate._ "

He sounded more irritated than aroused at the moment. Nate smirked and strode back to the bed.

"Are you going to get on with it?" Wade asked. "I've got to piss."

"No you don't."

Wade glowered at him.

"You're perpetually dehydrated and it's been less than two hours since you got back. Now… Where were we?" He picked up a flogger. He trailed it down Wade's back, watching the skin bunch and contract.

Their eyes met in the mirror.

Nate let fly. The tails of the flogger connected with a satisfying, meaty thud. Wade jerked. "Tell me about the bag," Nate said quietly.

"I don't know anything."

He struck again. Wade jerked. He struck on the other side and watched Wade jerk again, his body instinctively flinching back from the pain. Five strikes on a side, then alternate. Then ten.

He misaimed. The soft leather ends of the flogger wrapped around Wade's side with a vicious slap. Wade whimpered.

Nate leaned forward. "The bag," he whispered in Wade's ear.

A hint of moisture showed around Wade's closed eyes. He breathed heavily through his nose.

Nate put a hand to the mark on Wade's side. It was already disappearing. He trailed a hand over Wade's crotch: Wade was tenting his briefs now, and he leaned into Nate's touch.

"It'll take more than that to break me," Wade said.

"I wanted to do this the easy way," Nate told him with false sincerity. "But you had to go and make it hard."

"Really? That's… like… not even a creative That's What She Said setup."

Nate picked up the nipple clamps. They went on so pretty, each little bud showing red through the teeth. He gave the chain a light tug just to hear Wade gasp. All that scar tissue hadn't made him any less sensitive.

He picked up the cane from the bed. It was a length of rattan, flexible and hard in his hands. He swung it experimentally. The noise was sharper than the flogger, the hit more painful. When he'd slapped it against his own thigh, it had stung. Wade winced now as he brought it down again and again on the same spot, raising a welt that bloomed and disappeared with Wade's healing.

"Fuck," Wade ground out.

"The bag."

"Fuck you. Oh god. No more."

His mind was a jumble of lust, white noise, and something about a 'Cher'. One of his hooker friends? Nate swallowed his annoyance.

" _The bag._ "

Wade moaned. "I don't have it, you beast."

"I can keep this up a long." He struck again. "Long." The skin split and bled. "Time."

The wounds closed as fast as they opened, till Wade's back was a mess of blood and shiny new tissue. In the mirror, his glazed eyes finally met Nate's. "Is that all you've got?" he ground out. "I thought you were going to get _creative_."

Nate dropped the cane back on the bed. He turned away. The desperate noise from Wade's throat went straight to his cock. It would serve him right if Nate left him there, hard and unable to touch himself.

He took the ice from the freezer. It was a long piece, hardened into a cylinder an inch and a half across.

Wade's eyes tracked him as he walked back. The whites were showing all the way around like a frightened animal.

Nate trailed the ice down his chest, traced his nipple with it. "What am I going to do with you, Wade?" he asked.

"I don't know anything. Please."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing."

"Hmm." He circled his captive. "That's disappointing. All this effort for nothing." He trailed the ice down Wade's spine.

Wade shuddered.

Nate slid his fingers under the band of Wade's briefs. "Well, if you're not going to make yourself useful, I suppose I'll just have to make my own fun."

Wade's breath hitched.

Nate slid his briefs down. He held the ice with his mouth; it tasted of Wade's sweat and blood. Wade's ass flexed as he spread it with both hands. Nate stroked a thumb over his entrance. The ice was slick with saliva, but it still took an effort to work it into Wade's burning body. Wade squirmed, but there was nowhere for him to go with Nate kneeling on the spreader bar. He cursed as his body closed around the intruder. His thoughts were too jumbled for Nate to pick up, but there was no mistaking the way his hips jerked.

Nate circled him again. Wade trembled, his spread knees barely holding his weight as he shifted. The chain between the nipple clamps clinked as he tried to find a comfortable position.

"How does it feel?"

Wade moaned.

Nate unzipped his pants. The loose fabric hadn't done much to disguise his own state, but this was the first time he'd touched himself since they'd begun. It was the first time he'd touched himself in two days, waiting for Wade to finally get home. Nate lightly ran a hand over his erection, showing it to Wade.

"You can't."

"Are you going to stop me?" He looked Wade up and down, from the sweat springing up on his temple to his trembling feed, half off the floor as he twisted.

"I'm not like that." Not his most convincing performance.

"Like what?" Nate squeezed the base of his cock. Not yet. Not yet.

"I'm straight."

Nate chuckled. He was beginning to get a feel for this century's preoccupations. "Do you imagine that I care?" he asked.

Wade was panting and staring at his cock. Wade's own erection stretched the briefs to their limits.

"This is going inside you," Nate told him. "One way or another. But maybe if you're good, I'll let you get away with just sucking me off."

"And then you'll let me go?" Wade asked.

"If you're good enough."

Wade licked his lips. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. Just don't… don't…"

Nate sneered at him. The winch moved smoothly, dropping Wade to his knees. The concrete floor must have hurt, but he didn't protest.

"Let's see what you've got, thief," Nate said.

Wade's mouth closed over him, hot and tight. Nate wrapped a hand around his head, and it was perfect. Until he felt teeth, and a thread of mocking laughter.

It was only a hint, a scratch, but Nate snarled and hauled Wade off of him. "You call that a blowjob?" he hissed.

"No, please. _Please._ " The chains rattled as Wade tried to follow his movement.

There it was, on the bed. Straps. A hard circle, wrapped in leather. Nate picked it up.

"You're useless."

Nate had to hold Wade's head in place to get the gag in. Wade fought him until the leather straps were cinched tight around his head, and his mouth was spread open.

"Not even good for a blowjob," Nate said over the noises of Wade trying to talk.

The leather slid over his sensitive skin. The gag looked painful in Wade's mouth, but it was almost too tight around his cock. He thrust experimentally.

Wade gurgled. Whatever he tried to say made warm vibrations that Nate felt down to the soles of his feet.

"Fuck, I should have gotten a blowup doll," Nate said. He put his hands on the back of Wade's head and thrust. It was too bad they were facing this way. He'd have liked to watch in the mirror.

Wade's smooth scalp was slippery with sweat; Nate's hands slid around as he thrust. "Not good enough," Nate said.

Wade moaned and tried to follow him as he pulled out. His mumbled pleas were incomprehensible around the gag, but Nate could feel the laughter, just a little. There it was, mixed in with the lust, the feeling of wry amusement, like somehow all this was _funny_.

Nate winched him up again till Wade was dangling by his wrists, toes barely touching the ground.

Nate knew how painful that position was, how it twisted your shoulders till you would do anything for relief, how the ache stayed with you for days, though presumably not with Wade.

Wade shifted and groaned. The muscles in his arms flexed. His briefs were trapped around his legs. Nate cut them off, ignoring his leaking erection. His mind, when Nate brushed against it gain, was a solid wall of white noise. _I'll show you 'creative',_ Nate thought.

This knife was duller. He had to press to get a good incision. "The bag?" he asked.

Wade mumbled something around the gag.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch that, Wade." Nate palmed himself. He pressed the knife deeper.

Wade's mumbling increased in pitch, but he was as hard as ever.

He wrapped himself around Wade's back. "You only have one use left to me."

Nate pressed in slowly. Wade was oddly textured inside. His body was a strange mixture of burning heat and the faint remaining traces of the ice. He shook his head and gave a desperate moan of denial.

"You had your chance," Nate told him. "I tried to play nice, but no, you had to go and be an annoying little shit." He traced the knife up Wade's chest, reopened the gash over his right pec.

Wade flopped against the chains. He didn't have enough purchase to stand properly or to push back against Nate. Nate had to hold him in place with his TK while he fucked him. His own face was horrifying in the mirror. The spreader bar rattled against its cuffs. Nate yanked on the nipple clamps, and Wade screamed. It came out as a muffled gurgle.

"This is your fault," Nate said. "You made me do this. Never happy. Always wanting more. You want to go visit your dead girlfriend that bad?"

Wade's eyes widened as the blade came down. Blood sprayed outwards from his neck, splashing a grisly trail across the mirror. It bubbled out of his mouth. Nate thrust once, twice into his twitching body, and came.

It took Nate a moment to come back to himself. He staggered as he pulled out. Wade's body swayed in its chains. Nate had cut deep, deeper than he'd realized. 

Nate touched the gory mirror. He wiped his hand on his pants. It was true: the black color hid most of the blood.

Behind him, the chains creaked faintly. Wade's dead eyes stared out at nothing, his head flopping at an unnatural angle. His neck still dribbled. The white of his spine showed through the gore. Nate hadn't known his own strength.

He wiped his hand again.

Arteries pumped the last of Wade's blood out and down his neck. His chest showed countless marks, arrested in a half healed state. His cock hung limply, slicked with blood and his own come.

There was nothing to read from him, but the white noise was still there, buzzing in Nate's ears. Over it, dimly, Nate heard the front door open.

He reacted on instinct, stepping carefully around the spreading pool of Wade's blood, sliding the revolver out from under his pillow. He rounded the corner with it held carefully behind him.

A woman stood in the doorway, wringing out her hair. At some point, it must have started to rain. Nate hadn't noticed.

The woman set a bag down at her feet. She looked up and froze.

They stared at each other.

"Um… Hi?" said the woman after an awkward pause. "You must be the new roommate."

"Wade's not here right now," Nate said.

The woman snorted. "Typical." She unzipped her raincoat and hung it up by the door. Underneath, she wore a little red dress. Lace straps peeked out of the top and bottom.

 _Garters_ , Nate's brain supplied. _Lingerie._

"I was supposed to meet him here," the woman said, shaking her head. "Did he say when he'd be back."

Nate shrugged. "Maybe I can help you, Ms…?"

"Vanessa."

"Vanessa?" It sounded like a stranger's voice coming out of his throat.

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Well, you can call me something else if you'd rather," she said. She had a husky voice. Flirty.

_Jesus._

He looked her over again. She was much better looking than the ones down the block. He'd expected someone more anemic. The American accent was surprising too, but the lingerie, the bag--he could see the riding crop sticking out of it now--they made it clear: Wade had found his professional, and it was so much worse than Nate could ever have imagined.

"Maybe if you come back later," he said.

The prostitute rolled her eyes. "I swear, that man is never on time." She made no move towards the door.

"I'm sure he'll be around this evening," Nate said desperately. How often had Wade seen her? When? In all of his insane rambling, Nate had never imagined… God, what was he paying her, or did she even know? _'Vanessa'?_ Jesus fucking christ.

"Well, then I guess I'll just have to wait around for him," said the prostitute. "What else is new." She looked around. "This place is nice," she said. "God, look at all that natural light."

She drifted toward the windows, and Nate did the only thing he could think of.

He fled.


	5. Chapter 5

Wednesday afternoon, two p.m., Nate knocked on the door. Wednesdays were marked on Wade's tatty paper calendar with the photos of decapitated clowns. Right now, he would be standing outside of his favorite comics shop, yelling incomprehensibly about 'cannon' and bothering the customers. Nate knew his way around historical armaments, but he still had no idea what Wade was talking about most of the time. At least it would keep him busy for a few hours. Nate was just fitting his key in the lock when the door opened.

The woman stood in the doorway.

She wore a fuzzy sweater several sizes too big with the sleeves rolled up. Pale pink. The effect was striking--very different from the hooker clothes he'd first seen her in. She was older than he'd realized. Without her makeup, he could see the tiny crow's feet starting to form at the corners of her eyes. She frowned, and Nate tasted the sour tang of her fear.

"I'm here for my stuff," he said, shoving the key back in his pocket.

Her mind moved sluggishly. She had just woken from a nap, Nate realized. Now was the time to grab his bag and go, before she had the wherewithal to throw him out.

"It'll only take a minute." He brushed past her into the apartment. The woman trailed after him.

A pot of tea sat steaming on the kitchen island. By the smell, it was the herbal stuff he'd bought. The teapot was new. A red dish towel he didn't recognize lay on the island next to it. Nate stalked past. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the bed--and the chains. Wade had left them up.

His bags--both of his bags--sat on the floor next to the windows.

"I washed your clothes," the woman said. "They were getting a bit ripe."

"Uh… thanks." Nate unglued his feet and walked over. Everything seemed to be there. It wasn't much: the stuff from the laundry, a few extra pairs of underwear and sweats, his wrist unit with its dead dial, and a few extra clips of ammo. His t-shirts smelled like laundry detergent. It was a strangely homey smell that invoked a spurious sense of nostalgia entirely at odds with his own childhood.

"Wade should be back in a couple of hours," the woman said.

He zipped up the bags.

"Would you like some tea? I made a pot."

He sat. She poured.

Nate could feel her mind waking up. It was like an engine revving or beams of light showing through a cloud of dust. He'd caught the fear right away. It was still there, but the confusion was falling away, leaving behind a cool calculation. It made him nervous.

_Make him stay,_ the woman was thinking. _Why is that man always late?_

Nate sipped his tea. He probed the woman and got a flash of Wade, dripping blood. He yanked his mind back.

"I haven't seen you since Saturday," she said.

"You've been here that whole time?"

"Does that surprise you?"

He shrugged. "Expensive," he muttered. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. Jesus, Wade, of all the crazy things to do. Nate had a horrified feeling Wade would be sending her out with a bag of cash next, like in that stupid hooker movie he'd insisted on watching.

The woman's eyes widened. He felt the snap of surprise. "He told you I'm a…"

Nate shrugged again.

"Something _wrong_ with that?" A current of amusement ran under her anger.

"No. No, of course not."

"You'd be surprised what you'll do when you're desperate enough."

"No," he said. "I wouldn't."

 

Nate had his bags. That was about as clear as you could get from a nutcase like Wade. And Wade had found… whatever the hell was going on back at the apartment. It probably passed for therapy in his fungus of a brain. Maybe he'd even be right. Maybe she'd be good for him.

Despite the woman's attempts, Nate took himself off long before Wade returned. He signed on for a job in South America and turned off his phone. When he got back, dusty, grimy, and considerably lighter on ammo, his voicemail was overflowing.

_Hi, this is your buddy, Deadpool. Call me. Ciao, ciao!_

_Nate, Natey, Naterooney. I know you're theeeeeeere._

_You know, if I were calling you for help, you'd feel really guilty that you didn't pick up later!_ (This was followed by gunfire, but from the way Wade cackled, he was probably the source of it.)

_Nate. NateNateNate._

_Are you seriously going to avoid me forever? God, you are so lame!_

_Everything but the Girl was a classic, man. Do you still listen to them in the future? Wait, is there rain in the future? You know what rain is, right?_ And then four minutes of some pop song.

Five messages consisting only of dubstep.

One of the woman's voice, in an undertone, telling him to call Wade the fuck back before she lost her mind.

And one from Colossus requesting a meeting at his earliest convenience.

Nate erased the others, even the one from the woman, and drove himself to the X-Mansion. It was the same pretentious pile as last time he'd visited. With Wade. _Fuck_. These little images kept creeping in. He needed another mission to distract himself. The thing on the lawn had been from a movie too. Not the hooker movie. Another one. Wade called it working on his cultural acclimatization. Nate called it a fucking nuisance in a small apartment where you couldn't help hearing what was on the TV.

The heavy, wooden door creaked open.

"It wasn't my idea!"

Nate blinked.

One of the teenagers--Negasonic Teenage Warhead--stood in the doorway. Her awkward posture and expression sent every one of his parental instincts into overdrive.

"Is Colossus here?" Nate asked her. "He called me."

"Yeah, somewhere." She twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt.

Nate was forcibly reminded of Hope's face that time she'd overflowed the bath. " _What_ wasn't your idea?" he asked suspiciously.

Her mouth opened, shut, opened.

"Cable," a voice rumbled. Colossus emerged from one of the side rooms into the entry hall and beckoned. "Come. We have problem."

Nate followed him through the mansion to a meeting room. Negasonic Teenage Warhead perched on one of the chairs. She kept shooting him nervous glances.

"All right." Nate crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm here. What now?"

"Ellie," Colossus said.

"Fuck, okay, don't be pissed," the teenager said.

Nate raised one eyebrow.

"Okay, fine, you're going to be pissed, but don't freak out."

He sighed internally. He could gut twenty drug lords with their own butter knives, and it still didn't make him feel half as old and tired as talking to teenagers. He tried to summon up some vestige of soldier instead of dad. "Just tell me."

"It's your time travel thingy," she said. "Wade wanted it fixed."

Nate frowned. "I used it up."

"Well, yeah, but it's not _broken_. The battery just ran down, right? So I thought if we hooked it up to the generators here, and believe me, it was a pretty impressive feat of engineering to interface..."

Colossus grunted.

"Uh… anyway… we hooked it up and turned on the power."

"And, what, you broke it for real?"

"Worse! I fixed it!"

Nate stared at her. She _what?_ His wrist unit was in his bag, just as depleted as the last time he'd seen it… The last time he'd seen it before his bag went missing.

"Wade," he growled.

"We have detected instability in timestream," Colossus said. "Very dangerous."

"The unit shouldn't cause instability," Nate said. "It's specifically designed to enable safe jumps."

"Yeah, major physical jumps." The teenager--Ellie--rolled her eyes. "Apparently, _somebody_ used it to jump into his own immediate past, which is a temporal-psychic jump, _not_ a physical one."

"And?"

"And now it's unstable and _Wade_ has it."

"No he doesn't." Nate reached down. The unit was still wrapped in a pair of old sweatpants. Nate put it on the table. "He gave it back."

Colossus nodded to Ellie. "You can run tests?"

"Fat lot of good that's going to do if he's fucked things up as bad as it looks like!"

"Information is power. Forewarned is forearmed."

Ellie groaned and rolled her eyes.

It made Nate feel more like a father than ever. He followed the two of them back down the hall into a spacious study where a laptop was sitting open on a table. Ellie connected his wrist unit to one of the thicket of cables sprouting from the laptop, and a diagnostic program popped up on the screen. Nate peered at it over her shoulder. It was a primitive version of the ones back home--very advanced for this era.

The display showed bands of colored lines intersecting and blending together. There they touched, the lines twisted back on themselves and curled into spirals. All three of them studied it for a while.

"Okay," said Ellie. "These blue lines should be you when you used the device in the first place. See where they drop into the red lines? That crossing looks fairly stable. But then there's this one."

She pointed to where the red lines suddenly did a loop. Nate examined the display. The top part of the loop was green, then a muddy brown where it rejoined the main current. Eventually, the lines continued as a red-brown, shading back into its original red. This held relatively constant until a point where multiple streams, blue, purple, green, and orange, crossed the red in a confusing tangle. Some blended, tinting the red lines. Others veered off again, recrossed, and generally made a mess.

"See this whirlpool thing," Ellie asked, pointing to one of the most tangled knots. "I think that's where Wade used the device. It's like he combined a temporal-psychic jump with a physical one, except that makes no sense."

"He went back for his girl," Nate said with a sinking feeling.

"That makes no sense either! When you came back to the past, our present, you changed things so that _your_ future doesn't exist anymore. If you'd gone back when you were supposed to, it would be to the future of _our_ timeline, not the one you left. The only person who would remember the old version would be you."

Nate nodded. "That's the theory."

"Okay, but if that's how the device works, then this graph should just show different timestreams getting cut off when a change resets something. Instead, it's like all these parallel timestreams."

"Parallel universes," Nate said. "The technology can be modified for that application, but my wrist unit shouldn't have the power--"

"Oh, it had power all right!" Ellie ran her hands through her hair, which was already standing on end. "I'm such an idiot!"

"Parallel universes are not problem," Colossus said. He leaned past Nate to point with one enormous metal finger. "Single unstable universe is problem."

"Right," said Ellie. "It's like they're all collapsing into one now. It looks like that moron went back and forth, but if he changed something, we wouldn't remember the change. It would just be how things always happened, so there's no way to--"

"You got a picture of her?" Nate interrupted.

"Vanessa?" Colossus frowned at him. "She is dead. If Wade had rescued her, we would remember differently."

"You think he was lying?" Ellie asked.

"No. Trying to keep from messing up the timestream for 15 minutes was hard enough. No one's that good an actor." Fuck.

"I have picture." Colossus' phone looked tiny in his enormous hands. He tilted it towards Nate.

Staring back at Nate was a picture of the woman, the woman who was right now sitting in their apartment drinking his tea. Vanessa. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Collapsing universes, huh?" Nate said weakly.

Colossus grunted. "We have reports of portals opening, monsters appearing from thin air. We have sent teams to handle, but reports are getting more frequent."

"They seem to be centered on particular locations," Ellie said. "We had a whole spate in Canada, but Logan killed most of the things coming through, and it's been quiet up there for a few days. Now, it's starting again." She brought up a map. "What's weird is the exact location. You'd expect them to be centered on New York City like every other portal-hopping monster attack. Who would want to attack Newark? What would even be the point?"

"That's Wade's apartment," Nate said. "I have to go."

 

Nate could see that something was wrong as soon as he rounded the corner. The air in the middle of the street shimmered. Wispy humanoid shapes floated around the disturbance. Another cluster hovered in the air outside of their apartment building. As Nate got closer, he saw three of the translucent figures clamber across the brickwork and disappear through the window.

The street was deserted, either because anybody stuck living around here developed a sixth sense for danger or because the neighborhood was always deserted at this time in the afternoon. Nate felt gooseflesh crawl over his arms. The disturbance was like a physical weight in the air, pressing him back.

He aimed the stolen motorcycle at the center of the distortion, gunning the engine. Dilapidated buildings whipped by. A hundred feet. Fifty. The hairs on Nate's arms rose. Thirty. The figures were slender. Long hair whipped around them. Ten.

Nate jumped from the bike. He rolled and came up in time to see it crash through the shimmer. Metal shrieked. The front of the bike compressed like it had hit a wall. The figures let out a collective howl and turned on it, shredding the leather seat. The bike slid another couple of yards and toppled over. Spectral fingers gouged the metal body. They must have bitten deep: gasoline gushed out all around them.

Nate took aim.

The pool erupted. The fireball shot upward, incinerating most of the figures. The ones on the edge blackened and screamed. They came at him, claws out, streaming fire.

Nate shot them in the head.

The portal--if it was a portal--folded in on itself. Nate watched the shimmer narrow into a thin line of light, then fade away. A tarry smudge marked the street where each of the figures had been. He smeared one with his boot. It was still wet. _What the hell?_

Gunfire sounded in the building above him. _Wade_.

Nate took the stairs three at a time. He burst through the door and nearly got a faceful of lead.

Wade's eyes widened. He pivoted at the last instant and shot one of the wispy things. The bullet struck it in the chest, and it staggered and fell, dissolving into a slimy puddle of black ooze. One streaked from the window toward Wade's back. Nate shot it off of him, and everything was still.

Nate scanned the room. Black splat marks covered the windows. There was another on the floor by his feet. No more figures were visible. Wade stood in the entryway, a pistol in one hand, a katana in the other. He looked great. Well, he looked like he'd just been fighting off spectral dissolving monsters from a rip in reality, but he looked solid and real and Nate suddenly regretted deleting those phone messages.

Wade's breathing was loud in the quiet apartment. He looked at Nate blankly, then his head whipped around.

"Baby?" he called. Quiet. Freaked out. Not a tone Nate had heard much.

"I'm fine." The woman, Vanessa, emerged slowly from behind the kitchen island. She was clutching Nate's favorite frying pan. It dripped black ichor. "Are they gone?" she asked.

"I got the ones in the street," Nate said.

Wade scooped Vanessa into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

Nate walked over to the windows. One was webbed with cracks where Wade's bullet must have hit it, but most of the black stuff covered perfectly intact glass. There was no opening; the figures had osmosed directly through. He scrubbed a patch clear. The view outside the window looked normal. There was no shimmer left in the air.

Nate glanced over his shoulder. Wade was still whispering something in Vanessa's ear. "I'll do a perimeter check," Nate called and left them to it.

He circled the building but found no more disturbances in the air, no more figures, and no more black tarry substance. Whatever it was was gone for now. He hauled what was left of the motorcycle behind a dumpster a block down and dumped the remains of the plate down a sewer grate. Local law enforcement didn't have time for stolen vehicles, but it didn't pay to be careless.

He knocked as he entered this time. Vanessa was scrubbing the black stuff off the counter. Wade leaned against the island, watching her.

"You know, this would go a lot faster if you helped, honey," she said dryly.

Wade looked down at the sponge he was strangling, then up at Nate. His eyes still showed more white than they should.

"Any idea what those things were?" Nate asked.

"The ghost of some terrible tacos? I knew I shouldn't have trusted a truck run by three white guys," he said weakly.

"Nothing to do with this?" Nate pulled the wrist unit from a pocket.

"Oh, that old thing."

"Your big metal friend says this has been happening a lot."

Vanessa put down her sponge. "What's going on?" She asked.

"I was hoping you two could tell me. Whatever you did with my wrist unit… it had consequences, Wade."

"Okay, whatever this is, I'm not dealing with it on an empty stomach." Vanessa stripped off her gloves and threw them in the sink. "It's too early for whiskey. So, tea?" She held up the box of Nate's tea. "Oh, ew!"

The black slime had infiltrated the box. Nate watched her try to scrape it off, but the bags were ruined. "There's another box in the cupboard." Nate pointed.

Vanessa shot him an odd glance. He couldn't get a clear read off of her: she seemed to be thinking very hard about tea. It was a familiar technique: focus on the step by step process of quotidian things. It made Nate's fingers itch to clean his gun.

Nate accepted a mug of tea. The smell of the herbs was soothing. He could feel Vanessa relax slightly as she sipped her own cup. Wade was a wall of panicky static across from him. "This the first time something like this has happened?" Nate asked.

"I thought I was imagining it," Wade said. "Crazy old Deadpool. Fuck."

"You usually have visual hallucinations?"

"Not in the movies."

Nate glanced at Vanessa. She shrugged. Evidently, she didn't get Wade either.

"I thought I was imagining it too," Vanessa said. "Yesterday there was… It was like something was in the corner of my eye. Like when you're tired and think you see something moving."

He nodded. "The attacks get worse before they stop. The X-Men dealt with the last couple of rounds."

"But they stop?" Wade asked.

"The ones in a particular location. At least as far as Ellie knew a couple of hours ago. What were you doing in Canada, genius?"

"Hey, Wolvie had a lot of timelines that needed fixing!" Wade said in a brittle, fake-cheerful voice.

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. "All right, where else did you go?"

Vanessa waved her hand.

"Yeah, obviously, though I don't understand--"

"This is totally a better apartment," Nate said. "I thought we should just come back here…"

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "If you wanted to redecorate, Baby, there were easier ways than blowing all of my stuff up."

Wade looked guilty.

"But where have you been between then and now?" Nate asked.

"Nowhere, I don't think. One minute, we were in our old apartment. The next, Wade grabbed me and we were in the honeymoon suite at the Pink Pussycat."

"What?" said Wade. "I always wanted to stay there. They have a magic fingers bed."

"When I checked out--and by the way, Honey, you could have waited for me to wake up--I came back here. That was the… 23rd. You remember… Um…" She trailed off.

Wade had gone still next to him. The static buzz was louder. Weirdly, the main emotion he was picking up from Vanessa was confusion. Nate coughed. "The 23rd, right. Where else did you go before that, Wade?"

It was a short list, surprisingly. Wade must have been afraid the charge would run out. Nate wrote them down. Maybe the X-Men would be able to make more sense of the phenomena.

He slept on the couch that night, just in case the things came back, and tried not to hear the whispers and giggling from the bed.

 

Two days passed without an attack. On the third, Nate got back from his run to find Vanessa sprinting down the street in her pajamas, beating one of the specter things with the same frying pan. It dissolved into a pile of goo as he drew even with her.

"Hi, Nate," she gasped. "You missed all the fun."

She radiated excitement. Nate picked up adrenaline, the post-battle high, bloodlust, plain old regular lust. He drew back rapidly.

Vanessa's breasts heaved under her pink silk pajamas. They were cut in a masculine style, but they clung, and she'd lost the top button somewhere. She had a smudge of black goo on her cheek, and she was grinning at him.

Nate averted his eyes. "I liked that pan," he said. "It made the best eggs."

"Yeah… Wade said you like eggs?"

"They're an efficient source of protein." Nate looked around. The street was empty aside from the stain at Vanessa's feet. "Are there more of those things?"

"Nope. I think I'm getting the hang of this." She hefted the pan.

A dollop of black gunk detached itself. It hit the tarmac with a splat. Nate was definitely not making eggs in that pan again.

"Same number as last time?" Nate asked.

"More, I think. But they backed down when I started hitting them. You should have seen it!"

For a moment, she reminded him painfully of… Well, she reminded him of Wade too. "If the pattern stays consistent, they should escalate."

"Let them try!"

Vanessa led the way back into the apartment. She waved off Wade's attempts to check her over. "Please, it ran away. _From me_." She struck a pose with the ruined pan. "Now, it's just another grease stain."

"God, you are so hot," said Wade.

"So," said Vanessa. "Eggs?"

She doubled over laughing when she saw Nate's face. They had hardboiled eggs, _not_ made in Nate's ex-favorite pan. Wade heated one of the awful toaster things and shared it with Vanessa. They got frosting all over each other, and Nate left to appropriate another vehicle.

The drive back to Westchester should have been relaxing. Mile after mile of mixed conifer forest slid past. The road curved gently. These modern cars handled well. He could understand the appeal, even as he burned fossil fuels.

He couldn't get Wade's face out of his mind: That painful look of suppressed worry and pride stuck with Nate. It was the face of every commander after a battle--not that Nate would have let a civilian armed only with a frying pan go after an unidentified enemy. She'd handled it fine though. When he'd spotted her, the creature had been fleeing, not even attempting to fight back.

It nagged at him. It was a break in the pattern. The creatures' nature was a mystery too: They appeared insubstantial, as though they were made of energy, but they could be killed with bullets or bludgeoning. He hadn't tried to get a grip on one, not after seeing what they'd done to the motorcycle. Would his hands have passed through it? Would contact have injured him? In two hours, he reached the X-Mansion but not a conclusion.

"Tell me there's a good reason I drove up here," Nate said when Colossus opened the door.

"And you said he wasn't friendly," drawled a voice.

Nate stepped into the front hall to find Ellie, the teenager with the pink hair, and a hairy, angry man waiting for him.

"Logan," Colossus said, gesturing between them. "Nathan."

_The wolverine._ Nate examined him. He couldn't see the appeal, but it wasn't any weirder than the geriatric television star Wade was obsessed with.

Nate followed them into the same study as before. A fire crackled in the fireplace even though it was the middle of the afternoon and not particularly cold outside. Nate shook his head. He was used to not bothering with heating unless the ambient temperature dropped well below zero.

"So you're going to love this," Ellie said.

Her tone of voice said that Nate was really _not_ going to love this. The pink-haired girl looked at him apprehensively.

"I'm all ears," Nate said.

"That dickwad created an even bigger clusterfuck than we thought," said the wolverine.

"We've been running simulations all week." Ellie pulled up another display on her computer.

"That's not from my wrist unit."

"No, though if you'd leave it here, it would really--"

"Not a chance."

"Right, anyway, we analyzed the energy patterns from satellite data from where Logan was. The energy is a lot stronger than the previous series, so we were able to get data all through the appearances." She popped up a topographical map with a multicolored overlay. "That was two weeks ago."

She played through a time series. Nate watched the overlay bloom with hotspots, then go back to a uniform dull green. It looped.

"And this," Ellie said, popping up another map, "Is New Jersey _today_."

Side by side, the similarity was striking: In each case, smaller orange splotches appeared within a few miles of each other in an enormous ring. They became darker and more frequent until they converged on a single geographical location.

"This one is Wade's apartment," Ellie said, pointing to the northeast cluster. "These two are both in shitty strip malls. We only know something happened there because the security cameras went nuts. This one is an empty field."

"No witnesses?" Nate asked.

"Actually, yes. Some guy drove his pickup truck into, and I quote, _a thing in the air that wasn't there_."

"He was drunk and not reliable witness," Colossus said. "His friend claimed they have pattern of alien invaders stealing pickup trucks."

Nate looked at the witness photo, then the map. _Huh._ "Probably an insurance scam," he said.

The pink-haired girl cocked her head.

Ellie scrolled the time series forward. "If the pattern holds, we should get something big around here in approximately two days." She highlighted an area on the map.

"What's there?" Nate asked.

"Some shitty part of New Jersey no one will miss," Ellie said.

Colossus frowned disapprovingly. "Early manifestations may not have caused harm, but what Logan described would endanger civilians."

"Like that guy?" Logan gestured to the witness photo. He didn't sound impressed.

"My point exactly," said Ellie.

Colossus folded his arms.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get hot," said Logan. "We'll go kill all the monsters, save the good people of New Jersey."

"Not you. Nathan."

All four of them turned to look at Nate.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Ellie asked.

Nathan looked from her to Colossus to the wolverine. "You could have texted me the location," he said. "What's so important you couldn't tell me over the phone?"

Logan's brain was the usual wall of healing factor. Colossus was thinking about civilian casualties in some conflict Nate didn't recognize. The pink-haired girl was thinking about a cartoon version of Nate himself riding a unicorn. He blinked and decided not to ask. Ellie was picturing…

"Vanessa?"

"Yeah, bub, Vanessa. Wade's girlie--or a version of her anyway." Logan scratched his head. "Don't ask me about the science; that's the squirt's job."

Ellie looked annoyed. The pink-haired girl squeezed her arm.

"You get a good look at any of the monsters before you whacked them?" Logan continued.

Nate shook his head.

"Any of them look skinny? Kind of female?"

"You're saying they're Vanessa."

"All I know is one minute I'm fighting a bunch of ghosts, and the next, it's an army of _me_ minus the cuddly personality."

Nate eyed him.

Logan grinned. Like his namesake, he had a lot of teeth.

"It's the same with each series," Ellie said. "They get more substantial and less see-through the longer they go on. The final set look like actual people, more or less. Each series so far has been worse than the previous one. There are more of the figures, and the rip-portal thing is bigger. The last series culminated in dozens of violent, corporeal entities trying to come through."

"And they were all Logan?" Nate asked.

"Nah, just the badass ones," Logan answered. "I had to chuck a few other guys back in the portal to get it to close, but mostly it was a bunch of me. Nearly sucked me in with them too."

"I thought you killed them."

"Some. The weak ones--I'm hard to kill. The other ones I swallowed."

The pink-haired girl put her hand on Logan's arm. _The peacemaker_ , Nate thought. He saw Logan visibly relax, but his mind was closed as ever.

"Explain again, please," said Colossus.

"Fuck, okay… It was like they were me and they weren't at the same time." He looked at Nate to see if he understood. "Like the closer I got, the more we blended together. A couple of them hit me and, whoosh, I couldn't see them anymore, but I could feel them. _In here_." He tapped his chest.

"If there really are alternate timelines that are collapsing back into one, that makes sense," Ellie said.

"Yeah, you try walking around with a bunch of evil alternate you in your head, and see if anything makes _sense_ ," Logan growled. "I've been itching to kill something ever since. It's like I've got no control over my temper."

_So what else is new,_ Ellie's mind broadcast.

"So there I am, with a bunch of extra guys in my head, and the other versions of me start combining too so there's fewer and fewer of us, but we're all getting stronger. Freakiest thing I ever felt."

"And you think the same thing will happen with Vanessa?" Nate asked.

"How the fuck would I know. Wade got her from some alternate timeline, right?" Logan said. "Maybe she's already evil."

_No goatee,_ Nate and Ellie thought at the same time. Jesus: had they really both spent that much time around Wade?

"She could be source of disturbance," Colossus said. "Logan is original Logan from this timeline, but original Vanessa is dead. Universe may be trying to reset itself."

"It's doing something all right," Logan said. "I nearly jumped in myself. The more of those things I absorbed, the more I wanted to. Finally, there were just two of us left, me and this big, tough guy. He'd eaten all the others, and he came for me, but I showed him who the real original is." Logan sneered. "I threw him in, and the thing closed."

"We think the portals might be appearing in places where the timestream has been disrupted," Ellie said. "And the ghosts or whatever they are are people who were disrupted somehow. So if all of the alternate versions are destroyed or forced back into the portal, our own timeline returns to normal."

"If Vanessa _is_ source of problem..." Colossus said. His compassion for Wade was at the top of his mind, but Nate felt the resolution under it.

"You want me to take her there and throw her in?" Nate asked.

Logan snorted. "Better you than me. That wackjob already causes enough problems for the X-Men as it is."

Nate extended his powers. Wade was chaotic, but he'd started to pick up hints now and then. Logan was a complete blank. Nate turned to Colossus. "How do you know it will work? You've only got this guy's word for what happened. How do you know the right Wolverine went into the portal?"

"Because it closed, dumbass," Logan said.

"The professor assures us this is original Logan," Colossus said.

"He has a healing factor. It interferes with telepathy."

"The professor has known Logan for many years."

Logan laughed. "Feeling inadequate, telepath?"

Nate ignored him. "Even if you're right, kidnapping Vanessa won't be easy."

"Yeah, that's why you're going to do it, jackass," Logan said. "Wade won't suspect you."

"It might be the only thing that will make this portal close," Ellie said. "And if absorbing her other versions does make her evil or violent or something…"

Nate scrubbed a hand over his face. "Fuck."

The pink-haired girl put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll figure it out," she said. "I know it."

"Thanks," Nate said gruffly.

He tried to block out her image of himself _and_ Wade on the sparkly cartoon unicorn. One step between optimism and insanity, as the saying went.

 

It was evening when Nate got back. Wade was alone in the apartment. He looked up sharply, then went back to poking holes in one of the toaster pocket things when he saw it was only Nate at the door.

The kitchen still smelled faintly of tar. Nate wrung out a sponge and retrieved the gloves from under the sink. It took some stretching to get one over his TO hand. The gunk from the figures had sprayed over both the counter between the sink and stove and the island. Vanessa must have bashed a few of them here. Or absorbed them? Had she already started? Was that why the figures had begun to flee from her? Nate wasn't sure how far he could trust Logan's account or Ellie's analysis of it.

He scrubbed the grout around the sink. The black stuff had worked its way into the seams. Behind him, Wade's knife scraped on his plate as he continued playing with his food.

"Where's Vanessa?" Nate asked him.

"Shopping." The scraping increased. "She said I was hovering."

"Have you eaten anything besides that toastershit today?"

Nate rooted through the cupboards and found a small pan. Not ideal, but it would have to do. He broke eggs into a bowl. The garlic on the counter was a loss. He threw it out. "Do we have any onions?"

"I have never bought an onion in my life, unless it was in the form of battered, deep fried deliciousness," said Wade.

There _were_ onions in a brown paper bag. Nate sliced one and added it to the pan.

"You're going to make someone a great wife someday, Nate."

Nate snorted. He tipped the egg mixture into the pan.

"All you need is an apron."

"If you get that pink thing with the ruffle out again, I'm going to shove this spatula up your ass."

"What have you got against Kitty-chan, you monster?"

"Eat your damn omelette," Nate said, plunking it down in front of him.

Wade used his frosting-covered knife to cut it. Nate winced but said nothing.

"So how was the Casa de Virgin?" Wade grinned and shoved a bite of omelette in his mouth. "What did Chromebone want anyway?"

The sun was down by now. The kitchen lights made a cozy island of brightness with just the two of them. Nate hesitated. Wade looked at him expectantly. The light smoothed out his features. He smiled again.

"Jesus, close your mouth when you eat. Were you raised by wolves?"

"Says the man from the big, bad post apocalyptic future." Wade chuckled. "So, the shiny, shiny boy scout?"

"They're still analyzing the data I sent them." Nate looked away.

When he looked back, Wade was watching him. A frisson went up Nate's spine, but Wade didn't look suspicious. His expression was soft.

"I'm glad you came back."

He swallowed. Nate watched his adam's apple bob up and down.

"You two were handling it fine," Nate said.

"We're an awesome team."

_Him and Vanessa,_ Nate thought wildly. _He means himself and Vanessa._

"Nate…" Wade put his hand on Nate's.

Nate's skin burned where they touched. It was just Wade's hand on his. The counter was cool under him. It was like every nerve in his body was in that little patch of skin.

Wade leaned forward.

A key scratched in the lock. Nate jerked backward. He felt the edge of the stove digging into his back. Wade stared at him, wide-eyed from three feet away.

Shopping bags rustled. Vanessa shut the door behind her. She looked between them. "Am I interrupting something?"

Wade bounded over to her, radiating manic cheer.

Nate had to consciously unclench his fingers. He could feel Vanessa's confusion over the weird sludge of Wade's mind.

She set the bags down on the island and began to empty them. "Look what I found," she said, pulling out a new frying pan.

She was smiling at him. She looked normal. Wade, draped over her shoulders, getting in the way, was looking at Nate too. He looked happy, nervous, some emotion Nate couldn't quite place.

"Sweetie, you're going to have to move so I can put these groceries away." Vanessa laughed and poked Wade in the side. He smiled soppily at her.

Nate could read her polite confusion and some amusement at Wade. She felt like anyone. There was no sign of what Logan described, but the portal would open in two days regardless. If Ellie was right. If the pattern held. If any of them knew what they were doing.

"I'm going to take a shower," Nate said and hid in the bathroom.

 

On a mission, living rough, he learned not to notice dirt. He could sleep in his clothes and crawl through mud for a week if that's what it took to bag his quarry. Only if he was hunting something with a superhuman nose did it become an issue, and even then it was odor that concerned him, not dirt. It was only here, in the decadent 21st century, that he had the luxury of time to really work the dust out of the crevices of his TO arm and shoulder.

Nate watched another swirl of dirty water disappear down the drain. He inspected his biceps, ran the toothbrush over the most uneven part again. Another thin layer of dust dislodged itself. It was meticulous work, not really necessary, but a pleasant distraction. The water was still hot. The inefficient water heater in the basement was designed to provide for dozens of apartments, most of which stood empty. It was a waste of fuel and typical of current United States building practices, but it meant he was unlikely to use all the hot water--no matter what Wade claimed.

He caught the faintest touch of a sound over the roar of the shower. A thump? Nate strained his ears. All he heard was water.

Nate reached out with his mind. He could feel Wade, still in the apartment, directly on the other side of the wall. Vanessa was there too. Two apartments away, one of their neighbors was dreaming about pancakes. There was no one closer. It was a false alarm: Staying in the shower so long made him vulnerable. Vulnerability made him jumpy.

He ran one more pass over the apartment. Wade was a blur of happiness. It was more than Nate had read off of him in a while. Vanessa…

A tidal wave of sensation broke over him.

_Full. Wet. Pressure. Friction._

Nate caught himself against the tile wall of the shower. _Oh jesus._

_Clench down. Tight. Muscles straining. Close. Fingers on her clit._

Nate rested his face on his arm. He should pull back. It was a private moment. They couldn't have known he would see.

The fingers were rough. Wade's fingers. Vanessa jerked and came.

Nate felt it like it was his own body. The feeling of Wade's cock was unmistakable, rough and strange and perfect. It was almost too much, driving up into them as they shuddered through an orgasm--as Vanessa shuddered through an orgasm--and came down ready to go again.

Nate squeezed the base of his cock.

Wade smelled like sweat and spunk. He'd already come twice. Vanessa laughed as they rode him. He had a fast trigger, but this was ridiculous.

"Having a houseguest is cramping your style, huh, baby?"

Wade groaned.

"We could have been quiet. He wouldn't have heard."

"He would. We shouldn't--"

Wade's hips stuttered. They rocked into him.

"Does it bother you? Him listening?" Vanessa pictured a figure looming over the bed, eye glowing, the rest of him lost in darkness. "Does it bother-- _Oh!_ "

Wade flipped them. "Shut up, shut up, shut up," he mumbled into her hair.

"Is he big? I'll bet he's big. Is he bigger than you?"

Nate ran his knuckles down his cock. Images of Wade's face above him blotted out the shower.

They rolled. Wade was under them again. "How many times?" Vanessa asked.

Wade shook his head. "Baby, you know I--"

She slapped him. Just a love tap. Her cunt throbbed. Nate's cock jerked.

"Ve haf vays of making you talk," Vanessa said in a spurious accent. Some movie slithered through her mind too fast for Nate to catch.

"Ness. Ness."

"Did he hurt you? Every time?"

Her skin tingled all over. She was picturing blood. So much blood. On the mirror, on the floor. Days to scrub it out while Wade started guiltily and refused to talk, but she knew. _She knew._ And now Nate could see it in her mind, but he wasn't like that. He wasn't so tall. He wasn't that heavy or so imposing. Wade was flexible. He'd taken it. Nate hadn't hurt him _like that_. It wasn't about _Nate_. He wasn't the one who--

"Tell me!"

Another slap. She liked the way Wade writhed under her.

"Don't make me tie you down."

She needed more. They needed more. Nate needed to look away.

Wade grabbed her hand.

_No._

Their hand was on his throat with all of Vanessa's weight behind it. Both hands.  
It wasn't right. Vanessa was here. Wade could see her right now. She saw him. It was all that they _could_ see. Nate gazed blankly at the shower wall.

They squeezed him. Both hands closing around the soft, soft skin of his throat, and Nate's hand on his own cock. Shivers of pleasure ran down Vanessa's back, or was it the water cascading down Nate's?

Power. Violence. Lust. They hadn't known how hot it would be. They hadn't _understood_.

They looked into Wade's eyes. Nate could feel him. He was so open, trusting. But he shouldn't trust them. The things they wanted... The things they would do if they got the chance… Their hands bit down, and it was good. Better than anything they'd felt before.

Wade gasped his last.

They came so hard Nate could feel echoes of Vanessa in his head long after the shower swam back into view. He was in his own body. The water was still hot as ever, washing the evidence of his complicity down the drain. _It's like I've got no control over my temper,_ Logan had said.

Nate knew what he had to do.


	6. Chapter 6

Nate spent the morning cleaning his weapons. The weight of his favorite piece on his back felt like home, but it was a false sense of security. A technologically-advanced gun like that could be made to malfunction in any number of ways. It could be dropped out of reach. An enemy could find a way to block his TK or ramp up the TO until he needed all of his powers to hold it at bay. Better to have many guns. And then there were the enemies who could explode the chamber of a firearm with a thought. Despite the dangers of close combat, there were few weapons as reliable as a knife. Some jobs just needed that personal touch. He sharpened his collection and returned them to their pouches, then folded the pouches securely away in his duffel bag. He emptied the other duffel of its few pieces of tech. He could leave the clothing. It wasn't important.

Wade hovered around, making half-hearted attempts to touch Nate's primary gun and comparing it to his penis. When Nate didn't react, he drifted over to annoy Vanessa who sent him on an errand.

Nate tucked the last of the weapons away and joined her. She was wearing an over-large t-shirt with a unicorn on it--one of Wade's, he thought. The ugly pink knife block sat on the island. She was using one of the fiddly blades to spread cream cheese on a bagel. He accepted half. The silence stretched.

"So," Vanessa said. "We're just going to sit here and awkwardly stare at each other."

Nate grunted.

"We should probably talk about Wade. He's been acting weird." She saw his expression and grimaced. "Weirder than usual. Didn't you notice? I thought it was the whole _me_ thing at first, but then you came back and he got even weirder... You know, it would really have been nice if you had _called him back_."

"I was on a job."

Her eyes narrowed. "You had time to burst in here, armed to the teeth."

"You were in danger."

"So... what... I should manufacture some more danger? Is that the only way to get you two to talk to each other?"

Nate shrugged. Talking wouldn't help. He had already wasted valuable time. There was no way of knowing how soon Wade would be back.

Vanessa smiled suddenly. It lit up her whole face. "He said you were the strong, silent type, but wow. _Serious understatement._ I feel like a teenager who's missed her curfew."

Nate frowned at this non-sequitur. He reached out and got an image of Vanessa in a tiny pleated skirt. A school uniform he realized. She was imagining Nate himself there, a stern expression on his face, raising his hand… Nate choked on his bagel.

"Are you blushing?" Vanessa looked fascinated. "Why are you blushing?"

He saw himself reflected in her mind. She was in a good mood. Relaxed. Curious. Her left big toe itched. She liked the way Nate looked when he blushed.

He felt the heat crawl over his face, getting worse.

Vanessa's mind broadcast an image of Wade as he must have looked before his scarring. It had the feel of memory, and Nate chased it even as he told himself not to. This was pointless, and it was nearly eleven in the morning, but he followed the memory down. Wade had been pretty. He had the same bone structure, the same warm, brown eyes. He looked just as good on his knees. In the memory, Wade was blushing; it was cute. Nate wondered if he still could. Memory Vanessa adjusted the straps of her harness. _Open up for Daddy,_ she said.

"Okay, now you're weirding _me_ out," said present Vanessa.

He looked at her blankly. Everything about the kitchen looked so normal. So homey. _Gemütlichkeit_ , his brain supplied. _Hygge_. Wade's stupid pink knife block caught the light. The paint was uneven. He must have done it himself.

"Look, the thing is… The other day, you left… quickly." Vanessa fiddled with her bagel. "I haven't had a chance to ask you… Wade keeps deflecting, but it seems like… well… Maybe if _you and I_ talk about it..."

She was trying to be objective. He could feel the struggle. It was supposed to be a mature conversation between adults, she was thinking, but she was getting wet, and he could feel that too. She was thinking about last night and how good it felt to let go.

Nate pulled the handgun from his waistband. "I'm sorry," he said, "But you're coming with me."

*

"Aren't you supposed to make the hostage drive?" Vanessa tapped her fingernails on the armrest.

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Do you ever stop deflecting?"

Nate glowered at the road in front of him. Vanessa was a restless blur in his peripheral vision. He could feel her irritation and curiosity. _Normal people_ who got kidnapped at gunpoint felt things like fear or a healthy respect for the man with the guns.

"I know talking about feelings is scary, but you turned Wade into a crazy person--more of a crazy person--and I am not dealing with this alone."

"The two of you talk enough for anybody." The response just slipped out. They were contagious.

"About most things, yes, but not about that whole Mario Bava remake I walked into. Thanks for that, by the way!" Her annoyance spiked.

"What the hell is Mario Bava?"

"Wade never made you watch The Whip and the Body?" Candy-colored images of throat cutting and whipping scrolled through Vanessa's mind. Some movie. Movies. This century's mass media was fucked up.

"Jesus. Never mind. I don't want to know."

"You want to tell me why Wade keeps sticking my hands on his neck?"

"You want to tell me why you enjoyed it?"

A blast of surprise hit him, followed by more curiosity. Her mind was more orderly than Wade's and much easier to read. Logical. Nate felt her flick through the possibilities. He felt the bright speck of suspicion and interest growing.

"How would _you_ know whether I enjoyed it?"

Nate didn't answer her.

She was thinking how big and gruff he looked. Scary, but in a hot way. They were surface thoughts. Very, very on the surface. Hard to ignore.

Nate clenched the steering wheel grimly.

_Vanessa had been perplexed. Wade's cryptic note didn't really explain why he had to get home first to talk to his 'house guest'. She could have waited in the car for a minute. Trust Wade to make everything as weird and dramatic as possible. She loved the man, but sometimes she really wanted to smack him. The apartment_ was _gorgeous, in a stark, industrial way, much like said houseguest. It was hard not to laugh. If Wade thought he was fooling her… Though that did explain the need to get home first. She'd have to replace the things he'd blown up. Would her old job take her back? The whole not dead thing might be awkward to explain. She should call a few friends. The natural light really was nice…_

_Around the corner was the bed. Black sheets. Really, Wade? She'd have to do something about_ that _And… Oh… Red… Oh my god. She'd run forward. She ran forward. The savage wound exposed the ragged ends of cartilage, white bone, a sea of red, dripping blood. What kind of monster--_

Nate swerved.

"Huh," said Vanessa.

He looked at her wildly.

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. _Hi there?_

He wrenched his attention back to the road. "What the hell?"

_Call it a hunch. Are you an X-Man?_

"No, I am not a… _stop that!_ "

_Stop what?_

She was far too amused. He felt the echo of her reaction to finding Wade, but it was fading. She ought to be more worried. Would a normal woman react that way? No, that train of thought was useless: No normal woman would have dated Wade in the first place. How was he supposed to tell--

"Words would be helpful."

"Not an X-Man."

"But you do read minds."

"Some."

"So why do you care what I do in bed? It's not like you haven't… _Oh._ " The irritation and amusement drained away. "Did Wade…?"

That cloying feeling was _sympathy_.

"You know you can say no, right?" Vanessa said gently. "If you don't like something…"

What the fuck? Nate was perfectly capable of… "Who would like _that?_ "

The awful sympathy went away. That was better. Anger he knew how to handle.

"You don't need to be a jerk about it," Vanessa said tartly.

"It's messed up."

"So's Wade! So am I!"

"You normally have murderous urges?"

"I told you, Wade put my hands..." Vanessa trailed off. "We're not talking about me, are we?"

They were on an older road bordered by derelict commercial buildings. Old gas stations leached poison into the ground. Nate pulled into one. Vanessa didn't try to escape while he gassed up. She watched him from the passenger seat. Even when he ducked behind the gas pump, he could feel her puzzling it over.

"Still here?" He slid back into the car.

_Wow, you really don't want to talk,_ Vanessa thought, but not like she was trying to get him to hear it. She gave him five minutes of relative peace, and then: "Are you afraid you're getting a taste for it?"

"No." He didn't have to ask what she meant. It was screaming at him from her brain in lurid, orgasmic detail. Usually, people got nervous when a telepath was around, tried to hide their thoughts instead of going on the offensive.

"No, you're not getting a taste for it or no you're not worried?"

" _I'm_ not the problem."

"And _I_ am?"

Her mind bubbled over with annoyance. She thought he was deflecting again. She thought this was some kind of _relationship_ talk. Jesus. They didn't have a… He and Wade didn't have a… 

"You get any other violent impulses since you've been back?" he asked.

_Just the one to smack you,_ she was thinking. But then his words sunk in. Her thoughts changed direction. He could feel it clicking into place. "Is this some horror movie _came back wrong_ thing?"

Not how he would have phrased it, but he picked the sense of it out of her mind. Nate sighed. Did it matter if she knew? They were halfway there, and she was unarmed. "There was an incident with the Wolverine," he said, and told her about it.

"Well shit," said Vanessa.

Yeah.

"So you think I'm going to wig out and try to kill everybody?"

He shrugged. "It's not a well-studied branch of temporal theory. But something is going to happen around that spot, and it won't be pretty."

"And because I had some kinky sex, you think it's already started?"

"A little more than kinky," he mumbled.

"Unlike voyeurism." _You were watching, weren't you?_

He blushed. "This isn't a joke!"

_Read my mind. Like the Professor read Logan._

"It won't do any good. I don't _know_ you. How would I know if something changed?"

Vanessa threw up her hands.

"You might not even be aware of the difference yourself."

Vanessa thought irritatedly that the only difference was that she was _constantly horny_ because certain couch-dwelling cockblockers were always around. Really, really, really horny.

Nate glowered and stepped on the gas.

*

They weren't going that far as the phoenix flew, but the highway was old and badly maintained. After a couple of hours, they passed a gaudy sign shaped like an enormous pink cat. The neon was off during daylight, but it looked like it wagged its tail. The words 'Pink Pussycat' were emblazoned underneath.

"Hey." Vanessa sat up. "I know where we are."

"The absolute middle of nowhere."

"Yeah, it was supposedly a whorehouse originally. They had to put it outside of town lines. Now it's a monument to kitsch."

Nate frowned at it in the rearview mirror. He'd remembered the name, but it didn't match Ellie's calculations. "Did you two just appear in the motel?"

"No, about a mile down the road in a field. It should be just… up…"

They came over the crest of a low hill. Fenced pasture was laid out below them. The fields were empty, except for one.

"Here…" said Vanessa.

A glowing rent split the scene. It was ten feet high, at least. The one he'd seen in the street had barely been a shimmer in the air. This one was obviously a portal, and it glowed a pinkish-red. Mist swirled around it, nearly invisible in the bright afternoon air. Down low, against the backdrop of the grass, Nate could see that the mist was made of humanoid figures.

"I thought you said this thing was due tomorrow?"

"Guess the timetable was a little off."

Nate pulled over. They got out and stood on the grassy shoulder of the road looking at the rip in reality. It was on the other side of the field. The figures fanned out in a radius of a few meters. They were still indistinct white shapes.

"Well," said Vanessa. "That seems bad."

The portal bulged outwards. It was slowly widening. They watched the figures amble around. Were more of them emerging from the portal? They were so translucent it was hard to tell.

Vanessa cocked her head. "Did the gigantic STD-ridden vulva just give birth?"

Nate blinked. She was Wade's girl all right. Though now that she mentioned it, it did look a bit like… _Focus_ , he told himself.

"You feel anything?"

"I feel like I should have brought my frying pan."

She didn't seem any different to him either. He could read her easily, and her mind progressed along the same paths it had been on all afternoon. Maybe if he hadn't been too polite to read her fully at first… but he still wouldn't have had a baseline to compare to. Nate popped the trunk.

"Can I have a gun."

"No."

He suited up, ignoring the deja vu. The portal had grown again. The change didn't look like much from this distance. The fact that it was observable at all was terrifying.

"So what's the plan?"

Vanessa was watching him with her hands on her hips. A heavy lump congealed in Nate's gut. "Vanessa…"

"Besides throwing me into Mount Doom-coochie, because I don't like that plan at all."

He flinched.

She raised an eyebrow. "Was that a secret? You've been looking at me like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar this entire drive. You didn't tell Wade where we were going. You _just_ told me how Logan closed the last one."

"It's a last resort."

He thought he'd feel it when she realized, but all he'd gotten was a lot of flashes of Vanessa's sex life. In between the nagging and him explaining about the Wolverine, she'd mostly been thinking about sex. _Incessantly_. There was something _wrong_ with that woman, and it wasn't any of the things Logan had described. It was times like these that he hated being a telepath.

"Okay, so what's plan A?" Vanessa massaged her temples. "Please tell me there's a plan A."

"I thought I'd scout the area." Nate looked at the field. Were the figures more distinct? "I thought I'd have more time."

"You sure you don't want me to have a gun?"

He dug through the trunk. Anyone could use a crowbar. He held it out. "You use that on me, and I'll put a hole you," he said.

Vanessa looked unimpressed, but she took the crowbar. Her mind showed no change, even a few dozen yards from the portal. She was thinking about leisurely morning sex with Wade and how cute he looked when he was half awake.

Nate pulled back. He was a soldier, damn it. He was a tactician and a strategist. He didn't have time to think about Wade coming home today to find her gone or whether his face was _cute_. He didn't have time to wonder what he'd say the next time he saw him. (He didn't doubt that Wade could and would track him down.) There just wasn't _time_. Nate pulled himself together.

"Wolverine said they joined together, getting stronger. Maybe I can thin their ranks first. Wish I had a sniper rifle. I'll have to get closer."

"And I get to sit in the car until one of them gets past you and infects me with psychokiller vibes from another dimension?"

"Technically, it's all the same dimension. Or it will be." He ran a hand over his face. "We don't know what will happen to you."

"Let's find out."

It was as good a plan as any. The field was bordered by a series of bushes, probably planted as a windbreak. They edged their way along it. The figures didn't respond. Nate motioned Vanessa forward until they were about twenty yards out from the nearest of the wraiths. As they watched, another couple detached from the portal and began milling around. Nate watched them, one hand on the pistol in his belt. He didn't attempt to hide. There was no cover this close, and the figures didn't behave as though they'd noticed anything. The newer ones by the portal were the same wispy shadows he had encountered before. The ones on the outer edges of the group must have been the oldest: they had solidified into rough human shapes, all with the same long hair. There must be hundreds of the things, and more coming all the time. What would happen when they attained their full human shape as Logan had described. He reached out to them telepathically. A vast inchoate rage reached him. If there was anything human in that group, he couldn't feel it. A shudder went down his spine.

Next to him, Vanessa picked burrs off of her sneaker. She was thinking that she could have borrowed a pair of Wade's pants, at least, if _some people_ hadn't been in such a hurry. _Rudest kidnapper ever._ She pictured him waiting, gun in hand, while she tried on clothes.

Nate suppressed a chuckle. "Focus," he said, but he felt better.

Vanessa looked at him innocently. She hefted the crowbar. "Ready whenever you are."

"I'm going to get closer. See how they respond."

He approached slowly. At ten yards, a few heads swivelled. At five, they reached for him.

Nate retreated, gun ready. The things followed. They weren't fast at first, but as he backed up, they picked up speed. He counted five of them peeling off of the main group. He shot one in the head. It hissed in pain and kept coming. _What the fuck?_

"Get back," he called. "They've changed."

All five raised their hands; fingers clenched like claws. He shot another one in the chest. All five moved faster. _Shit, shit, shit._

He reached for the gun on his back. If conventional bullets didn't work, that might. He saw Vanessa in the corner of his eye: she hadn't fallen back as ordered. The things were only a couple of yards away. Too fast! He went for the handgun. One leaped.

It evaded his shot, landed at his feet, and he was face-to-face with another Vanessa. She opened her mouth in a wild shriek. He shot her in the face. All-too-human blood and brain matter sprayed over him. Four. Another one morphed. He shot it in the chest before it could close. Three. Another headshot. Two. He felt hands close over his wrist. It--she--felt human, but behind her face there was only screaming. He punched the creature off him and double tapped her on the way down. The last one was the fastest, it darted at him before he had time to bring the gun up. Real Vanessa hit it with the crowbar, but it rolled with the impact, wrenching it away from her. It sprang to its feet and launched itself.

Nate braced his feet, but it sailed past him. Both Vanessas crashed to the ground. He spun. He didn't have a clear shot. He'd hit them both. The copy opened its mouth and howled. It was going to bite her, Nate realized. Human teeth could do plenty of damage backed by inhuman fury. He circled. He didn't have the shot. He didn't have--

Real Vanessa slapped it.

The screaming head snapped to the side with a wet crack. And then it collapsed. Even as the body slumped, its face was turning inwards like a popped balloon. Its limbs sagged like wet noodles, bending in places no human joint would be. In a matter of seconds, it was reduced to a red, gloppy mess and a few hunks of dark hair. Real Vanessa blinked up at him.

Nate glanced back at the portal. The rest of the figures still milled. Sound obviously didn't attract them.

At his feet, Vanessa was wiping gunk off of her face. _Gross,_ said her mind. _Ew, ew, ew, ew._ He caught a fleeting thought about pancakes and how some days it wasn't worth getting out of bed.

"You all right?" he asked gruffly.

"What the hell _was_ that?" She climbed to her feet and retrieved the crowbar.

"From what Logan described, the copies combine when they touch."

"But not all of them." She waved towards the portal where the wispy figures mingled.

"Maybe it's a later phase in their development, once they become solid."

"Once they get near the original, you mean. Yech!" She wiped at the gunk on her shirt, but all she did was smear it around.

"You're not the original."

"Close enough!"

But was she? "Do you feel anything?"

"Yeah, I feel gross! But no murderous rage yet. Lure me another one."

It was slow work, finding groups of figures that were small enough to handle easily and far enough from the herd to not draw more with them. Each time they got within a few feet of Vanessa, they began to change. Their milky translucence morphed into human-colored skin, hair, eyes, red, screaming mouths. Once they changed, he could shoot them. When Vanessa got her hands on them, they melted. It required a solid contact, skin on skin, but it worked every time. The bodies piled up.

The portal pulsed like a demonic red heart as they left a circle of carnage around it. He ignored Vanessa's input. A heart was a perfectly adequate metaphor no matter what it was shaped like.

She was laughing, covered in gore and somehow happy. He could feel her excitement. She looked at him, and he saw himself through her eyes. It was inaccurate in the way that mental pictures always are: he knew he wasn't that tall, and his scars were far more disturbing. He was old and battle worn, and his eye unsettled people. She licked her lips.

"Let's try over there," he said before she could speak. He'd had inappropriate reactions to combat himself. Adrenaline did odd things to people. Easiest to ignore it.

*

"Ugh, I think I just stepped in _me_ ," said Vanessa a few hours later.

They had circled all the way around, arriving back at the stains from the first wave of figures. The sun was getting low. Nate shielded his eyes and peered into the portal. The red light had increased, or maybe it was just more visible as the daylight faded. The figures stood out sharply against it.

"Do they look more solid to you?" he asked. There were hundreds of them still, but at least their numbers didn't seem to be growing anymore.

Vanessa peered at them too. She pointed. "Look."

Two of the more defined outlines crashed into each other. They went down with a wet spurt, and when the flailing mass of legs got up again, there was only one. Other figures were starting to reach for one another. Feathery wisps of light darkened into long human hair. Larger ones lumbered past, batting the smaller figures out of the way. The portal pulsed rhythmically, first the slow beat of a heart at rest, then faster.

They were losing light. Nate still couldn't sense human minds among the crowd, but there were starting to be flashes of… something. It was almost as though someone were pressing against his mental shields. He sensed Vanessa's worry next to him.

"There's a… lot of them," she said. "We should have brought Wade."

"So he could kill a bunch of things with your face?"

"They're not all me. That one looks like you."

She pointed again, and he saw it through the crowd, a hulking figure with a glowing eye. Their gazes locked, and again he felt something press against his shields.

It charged at them, bowling over copies of Vanessa as it came. He shot it with his primary gun. No point in taking chances, but he misjudged. Too early; not corporeal enough. The beam barely slowed it. It rammed into him, sending them both to the ground.

_Jesus,_ it was like looking in the mirror. It was as strong as he was, maybe stronger. Its TO side gleamed in the red light of the portal.

"Nate!" Vanessa wrenched at its face. It snarled and grabbed her wrist. 

Nate punched it with his TO hand. It let go of Vanessa, but its own TO hand came down around his wrist, pinning it to the ground. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ He tried to shove it away with his other hand. Palm smashed into face, skin on skin. He felt a ripple of energy. Something slid straight past his shields, and then his double collapsed inward.

Nate coughed. He wiped the gore from his face.

"Jeez. We should have brought towels," Vanessa said. She stiffened. "Uh… Nate… I think we have a problem."

Nate climbed to his feet. Ripples moved through the crowd. Taller figures thrashed among the copies of Vanessa. There were more of them. Of _him._ He could feel them on the edge of his mental senses, like they hadn't seen him yet but were sniffing him out.

"I thought they were all going to be me," Vanessa said.

"Logan said there were others. He just didn't care because they were easy to kill."

"I don't think you're going to be that easy."

Two found each other in the crowd. They punched and scratched, howled and beat on each other. The scream from the loser was loud in his head.

"Why you though?" Vanessa asked.

"If we can trust Wade's account of his movements, each change he made set off a disturbance in a geographical location related to that change," Nate answered her. "I came through close to here myself--closer to here than to the other locations anyway. There could be others as well. Do you see any other types?"

They scanned the crowd. The eerie red glow confused his vision in the twilight.

"God, they really look like me," Vanessa said. "Maybe they're solid enough to pick off from a distance."

Nate nodded. He hefted the gun and took aim at a clump. They _were_ solid enough. The Vanessa copies flew through the air, smoking and breaking apart. The grass smouldered where they hit. Others dodged out of the way, shrieking. They were beginning to sound more human. Their heads turned. Their mouths gaped open, and they broke into a sprint.

"Nate. _Nate!_ "

"Get ready to dodge."

He mowed down the first wave. A woman's arm bounced on the grass at his feet, setting it alight. More were coming. And more.

Vanessa scratched one down its side, the figure turning to slime as soon as her nails touched it. Another, she had to wrestle, agonizing seconds of skin contact before it dissolved. Nate swatted others away from her while she held it. She seemed to get the hang of it after that, grabbing figure after figure as they darted past. They screamed and dodged… and they came for Nate.

Too many. They were hemming him in on either side. He had to fall back. "Watch out," he called.

Vanessa couldn't hear him over the screaming, he realized. She had her hands shoved into the ribcage of another of her doubles as it bubbled and shrank.

_If you see one that looks like me, run,_ he projected. _That trick will only work on yourself._

_Where are you going?_ Alarm. Concern.

_Need room to maneuver._

The gun wasn't good close up. Too long. Too easy to slap the barrel to the side and come at him. He turned and ran, spun, fired, and lit up another heaving mass of them. Vanessa was a bright spot of worry off to his right. He aimed away from her and pulled the trigger again. More burning copies fell to the grass.

The smoke from the fires blinded him. He coughed and danced backwards, away from the nearest one. The grass was burning here and there all around the portal. The smell of burning hair turned his stomach. The field stank like a crematorium. Or a mass killing ground.

Waves of howling women came at him. They heaved out of the darkness on all sides. He turned. He needed distance, but they were growing smarter as they combined. A solid one rose from the bush behind him, her arms open. He shot her in the face, just as something smashed into his back. A dozen of the things tackled him to the ground, pinning him face-down in the gruesome remains.

Something pounded on his shields. His copies had finished fighting. One had emerged victorious. He could feel its pleasure. Its rage. It knew there was another nearby, and it was searching.

He reached out. Vanessa--the real Vanessa--was looking for him. She was only a few yards away. Close to the portal. He felt her consider it.

_Wait,_ he projected.

_Where are you?_

_Get back. Logan said the_ last _one. We don't know what will happen._

_Oh god. Is that you under all of them?_

_You need to fall back. Take out the ones you can._

Nate slid a knife out of his belt, slashed away the clinging hands. A wave of blood splashed down on him, and the pile of writing women screamed. He could feel them combining above him, but every time their numbers lessened, another leapt onto his back.

Something big and predatory moved through the crowd. His copy was almost here.

_Hold on!_ Vanessa was running towards him. The copies fell out of her way now, frightened to touch her. It made her clearly visible. She should get down. She should get back.

Nate looked around frantically. The gun. He'd dropped it when he was tackled. He slashed again. Blood spurted, obscuring his vision, but he couldn't get free. He wiped his face against his shoulder, got a glimpse through flailing limbs. The gun lay in an open patch of grass. He reached for it with his TK…

A bolt of rage went straight through his shields. Nate screamed.

The gun whipped away, ripping itself from the ground, through the air, and into the hand of a monster with a glowing eye and a smile of pure malice.

_Die,_ it thought--the first vaguely human thing he'd read off of any of them.

The blast ripped through the women on his back. It sent the whole group of them rolling in a giant heap.

"Nate!"

_That's not me. **RUN!**_

His back screamed. The human shield had only done so much. He clawed his way through the grass, away from the fire, weighted down with charred corpses and writhing, dying copies alike. Even with the TK, he could barely drag them all. He had to get out of his jacket. It felt like they'd been burned into it.

His copy stood in the open, the gun in its hand.

Vanessa skidded to a halt. Figures screamed and fought each other all around her, but there was no cover.

His copy smiled, and Nate prepared to reach for it.

Through the smoke and darkness, a figure came running.

"Ness? Baby?" It was Wade, a streak of lighter red amongst the gore and the eerie throb of the portal.

The gun blast caught him across the chest, flipping him and throwing him end over end into a cluster of the Vanessa copies. Even through the confusion and the white noise of his mind, Nate felt him recoil. _Ness!_

Vanessa threw herself to the side. The gun sliced through the air behind her. She rolled, got a copy between them, but her hand brushed its stomach, and it dissolved.

Living copies swarmed Nate, clawing at the mass of tangled remains on his back, pulling at his hair, trying to get at his eyes. He buried his face in his arms. Nate's copy laughed in his mind. _Die,_ it said again. It wanted to make him watch. It was in his mind.

And Nate reached out.

Vanessa scooted backwards. Dying copies collapsed around her as she accidentally moved over them. She was looking for shelter, he knew, but she wouldn't find it.

Wade climbed to his feet. "Baby!" He staggered in between them.

He sneered. Foolish to get between him and his prey. He could kill anything.

"Nate?" Wade's voice shook. The eyes of the mask were wide.

"Sweetie, it's not--"

He sent a copy flying into her with a flick of his TK. The woman coughed and spluttered as it exploded in her face.

The clown in the suit drew a sword. "C'mon, Nate, buddy, talk to me," he said.

He laughed. He could smell desperation. He could taste fear. Sorrow. Horror.

The costumed fool threw himself at him. He was fast. Surprisingly fast. His sword struck the gun and knocked it to the ground.

"Nate, come _on_."

He snarled. His wrist hurt. There would be payback for that. Slow, painful payback. He flexed his TK, and the other sword flew into his hand.

The clown parried. He was more skilled at destruction than defense. A common mistake. The fool lost ground, inching towards the woman. _He_ threw another half-burnt body into her face to keep her busy. One thing at a time.

Advance. Advance. Parry, slash, riposte. He grinned. _I will enjoy making you bleed,_ he projected, but it didn't go through. The clown's mind was strange.

" _Why?_ "

No matter. The misery was clear in the voice. He went to strike. His wrist seized. His arm froze. His mouth twitched open. _No._ He wrenched at his body. _Die. Die!_

"Nate..." Wade faltered.

"Stab me, you dipshit!" Nate said. "Quick!"

Wade flung himself forward. His sword plunged into Nate's chest. Nate felt his own sword sink home.

It burned, like a searing brand through his core. Neatly between the ribs. Count on Wade for that. Nate opened his mouth, but he couldn't get the air to speak. His hand seemed to be welded to the sword. He touched Wade's masked cheek with the other.

"Nate. Oh god."

He could hear the blood bubbling from Wade's lips. It wet his mask from the inside, enough to be visible even in the dying firelight. The world tilted crazily. They sank to their knees together.

"Nate. _Nate_."

It sounded far away. Nate was losing his grip on the hand. It fell away from Wade's cheek, and he spiralled away into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Ow. Fuck, that hurt. Everything hurt. He drifted. He twitched away from a screaming… _something_ , his mind too raw to deal with it right now. There were other puddles of pain here and there. He passed by one as it faded out. The air around it cleared. He couldn't describe it exactly, but before it had been _wrong_ , and now it was just air. Ahead, there was more pain, but it lacked the greasy, otherworldly quality. He drifted that way.

"Wade, baby…" Vanessa put her hand on Wade's shoulder.

He rocked back and forth. He was crying under the mask, Nate realized, and Vanessa was stroking his head. The material of his hood felt rough under her hand.

"He said it wasn't him," she said.

"You didn't see his face. When he told me to…"

The swords lay in the grass next to them, sticky with blood. Vanessa rubbed circles on Wade's back. She was scared too. Nate could feel it. Scared of the thing Wade was clutching. The body.

_Oh._

She was trying not to look at its face, so he could only catch a glimpse here and there. His double looked peaceful in death. Identical to him, right down to the clothing. The curse of having arrived with only the clothes on his back, he supposed. Maybe Wade had a point about diversifying his wardrobe. Nate watched him through Vanessa's eyes. She wanted to take off the mask, but she knew it would upset him.

In the distance, thunder pealed, and the first drops of rain began to fall.

It was odd that his doubles hadn't been armed, Nate thought. He'd come through with weapons. Shouldn't they have been naked or else carrying the same things? Vanessa's copies had all been wearing the same outfit as each other too. The clothing dissolved with the bodies. Not what he would have expected, but he was no temporal theoretician.

Wade was a wall of misery. Nate could feel the guilt pouring off of him. Over what? Self defense? _Jesus, Wade._ He felt a little guilty himself. Somewhere, distantly, his head hurt. He felt fuzzy and confused. He was supposed to be doing something, but what he really wanted was to sleep.

Vanessa got to her feet. "I'll be right back, baby."

Wade mumbled something in reply.

She left him there, holding the corpse. It was more comfortable away from him. Nate could think more clearly. His head still hurt. His back too. He'd go see about that in a minute, when he worked up to it. It seemed like a lot of effort right now. It was comfortable just drifting and looking out of Vanessa's eyes. Telepathic strain, he realized. He'd badly overextended himself.

She picked her way through the smouldering remains. The rain extinguished the remaining fires and slicked Vanessa's hair to her face. Everything was wet. Even the half-burnt bodies ruptured and liquefied at her touch. She destroyed the ones around the portal. It was flickering, already a thin shadow of its former self. As each body dissolved, it grew fainter.

The bodies on the far side were sparser. She destroyed them, then headed back to Wade and the area of heavier fighting. The grass was tacky under her sneakers, turning to mud. He wasn't sure if the red ooze was blood or otherworldly ichor, but they were all splashed with it. The field looked like a slaughterhouse.

The moon was rising, turning red to silver and black. The scene was more palatable without color, but the light revealed just how many bodies were left, most of them in a cluster beyond Wade.

Vanessa looked at the pile of burnt corpses. She swallowed. The smell of burnt meat and hair drifted towards her along with the scent of rain, and she thought of some documentary she'd watched in history class a long time ago. Nate was glad for her sake that it held no more immediate associations.

She pushed her hair out of her face again. "Okay, V," she muttered. "You can do this."

The pile was even nastier up close. Some of the copies had begun to fuse but died halfway, leaving twisted flesh sculptures. Others were charred beyond recognition. The _smell_ of them! You never forgot the smell.

Vanessa's feet slipped on the grass. It was awash with red. The biggest group of copies had died here, throwing themselves one after another into the sprawling pile of carnage. She swallowed down her nausea and reached for the first blackened hand. It dissolved, and the pile settled into the space where it had been. Slowly, the pile shrank. She removed a three-headed thing that still had one face that looked like hers.

 _Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it,_ Vanessa chanted in her head. Nate tried to send her soothing thoughts. It was like trying to extend a pulled muscle.

Another body liquefied. The pile destabilized and slid. Vanessa kicked away an arm with a shudder. The center of the pile was a group of especially carbonized copies. They were huddled in an indistinguishable heap of black _ick_. Vanessa was trying hard not to make out any specific shapes in it. She'd have to touch it. She really, really didn't want to. _Oh god, that's gross,_ she thought. Under that was something that looked like an old gray-green tarp. She lifted it with her shoe. Underneath was a black leather jacket, and a silver hand curled limply in the mud.

Vanessa slapped a hand on the charcoal bodies. They crumbled slightly but did not dissolve. She dropped to her knees and started prying. "Wade!" she yelled. "Wade! Get over here!"

His hands joined hers, prying the flaking mess off of the tarp that wasn't a tarp at all. Wade yanked the block of _stuff_ up, and she jammed her fist into the squishy underside. The whole mess rained down on them, and the tarp--cape--was free. She yanked it away and stared down at Nate's body.

 _He's dead,_ Vanessa thought. _Oh god, he's dead. Get Wade out of here. Do something. Think._

The jacket underneath was burnt too. Nate could see where one side of it had melted into his back. He thought the skin of his neck looked red, like a bad sunburn. His jacket was black and wet with blood or mud or rainwater. It was hard to tell. The moonlight washed everything out.

Vanessa froze. Nate felt the moment the day turned over from awful to too much. "Wade, honey," she said. "Can you go wait in the car for me?" Her voice was flat.

Wade didn't say anything. Nate couldn't tell if he was still crying under the mask. They were all drenched with rain. Wade's hands shook as he turned Nate over. 

Nate looked down at his own face through Vanessa's eyes and that strange overlay of handsomeness that she imagined. He was very pale in the moonlight. Mud caked his face. The rain slowly washed it away.

Wade pulled off a glove with his teeth. He put his fingers to Nate's neck. They were as scarred as the rest of him. They felt nice.

Nate leaned into the feeling.

"Anything?"

His back hurt. He hurt all over, like a combination of a sprain and a bruise and a burn. All at once and everywhere.

"I thought I felt…"

Fingers on his neck again. That was nice.

"C'mon, D.A.R.Y.L., robots don't die!"

Somebody was shaking him. Fuck, his head hurt. And some annoying fucker was slapping his face.

"Oxygen feeds the brain! When you die, it means brain death!"

"What the fuck are you babbling about?" he rasped.

It felt like something had taken a shit in his throat. He was being lifted, rapidly. His head did not like that. Those were arms. The smell of blood and gunpowder and girly floral bath products. _Wade._

"Uh, hey," he said. He patted Wade's shoulder awkwardly.

His eyes were crusted shut. He blinked a few times, and Vanessa swam into view.

"Hey, you." She smiled. "How about we get the fuck out of here?"

*

The Pink Pussycat might have ended its time as a literal cathouse--Nate had Wade to thank for his new and improved vocabulary--but it was still in the business of renting by the hour and asking no questions. They staggered into a moldy-smelling suite decorated in a violent and offensive shade of orange. Wade didn't even remark on the magic fingers bed. Nate didn't need to extend his smarting telepathic senses to know that was bad.

They left Nate there for a few minutes while Vanessa begged a first aid kit and a bottle of bourbon off of the front desk clerk. (The Pink Pussycat evidently boasted a lively and varied clientele.) Wade followed her, one hand clutched on her shorts pocket. He'd turned it inside out. It seemed to amuse her, but Nate was too tired to probe for an explanation.

"Let's get that jacket off of you," Vanessa said.

It took both her and Wade to peel it off. They ended up using one of his knives to cut it down the back. One half slid off easily. The other stuck. The gun blast had welded it to half his back it felt like. Vanessa finally braced him, while Wade yanked the sleeve over his hand. The fabric came away with a hideous ripping sound.

Nate breathed. Actually, it wasn't too bad. He took a 'medicinal' swig of the bourbon.

Tentative fingers ran over his shoulder blade. "Wow," Wade said quietly.

"The one advantage of a TO infection."

He could feel a thin layer of jacket still adhered to the metal in his back. He'd have to scrub that off later. Nate flexed his arm. Sore, but it would do. His mind felt flayed, ripped wide open by his copy and its foolish attempt to make him watch out of its own eyes. His TK trembled just keeping back the virus. But, all things considered, he felt good.

"Let me," Wade said.

His rough fingers skimmed over Nate's back. The iodine stung a little, but few of his cuts needed bandaging. Nate relaxed into his hands and let him work.

"You all right?" Nate asked Vanessa after a while. She'd fallen hard.

"I'm great, actually." She was rolling the bourbon bottle back and forth in her hands, an odd little smile playing on her lips.

"You absorbed a lot of them. Logan said it might be a strain."

"It's the weirdest thing. I feel…" Her eyes darted to Wade and back to him. "I actually feel really…"

Nate frowned. She looked almost embarrassed.

"Hot to trot?" Wade asked. His face lit in an enormous grin. Vanessa had finally gotten the stupid mask off of him in the car. "Ready and willing? Champing at the bit?"

"I'm more of a ball gag girl, myself, but something like that."

"You mean you're… err… aroused?" Nate blinked.

"Weird, huh?"

"Weirder than an army of zombie clones?" Wade asked. His voice didn't sound normal yet, but he was obviously trying. "Maybe it was the giant infected vagina in the sky that did it."

Jesus. They really did think alike.

"Hey, wait, is this what happened before? Because the thought of those terminal virgins being terminally horny is _hilarious_." Vanessa had obviously filled him in, probably while looking for the first aid kit.

Nate shrugged. "I don't know what happened to the other X-Men. Logan told me it was as though he'd lost all ability to control his temper. The more of them he absorbed, the more violent he got."

Wade snickered. "And people could tell the difference?"

"It does sound a lot like normal Logan," Vanessa said.

They looked at each other.

"You don't think…" said Vanessa.

Wade put both hands to his mouth in glee. "Oh-Em-Gee," he said.

"What?" They were doing that annoying thing where they didn't need to finish sentences, like they had one mind, regardless of a lack of telepathy or, in Wade's case, functioning brain cells.

"Well," said Vanessa. "If you combine a whole bunch of Logan and you get a big ball of murderous rage, does that actually mean something's wrong? Doesn't that mean he just became more… err… himself?"

Nate stared at her.

"So if I absorb a bunch of copies of _my_ self, then…" She burst out laughing.

"I love you, baby," Wade said.

"How did you find us?" Nate asked, breaking in on the gooey look they were giving each other.

"Ness texted me from a gas station," Wade said. "I had Weasel track her phone."

She _what?_

"You didn't even pat me down, asshole," said Vanessa affectionately. She patted her other shorts pocket. Her oversize shirt was pushed up over her thigh, and he could see the outline of a cell phone through the denim.

Nate gaped at her.

"Well, you never _asked_ if I had a phone, so I just thought about something else the whole ride. You didn't expect me to let you throw me in without a fight, did you?"

"Well… I…"

Nate became aware of Wade in his peripheral vision. He'd been playing with a bandage from the first aid kit, but now he was very, very still. Nate turned slowly. Wade looked blank. He mask was off, but he might as well have left it on.

"It was me or all the X-Men," Nate said.

"But you wouldn't _really_ have."

He had this _hopeful_ look on his face, some kind of fucked up trust. Something twisted in Nate's gut.

"If it was her or the fucking planet, Wade?"

Jesus, was he going to cry?

"There is no one I would not sacrifice," Nate said. "Not you, not her, certainly not me. Not if it meant saving everyone else."

"What about your daughter?"

Wade froze, like he hadn't realized what he'd said until he'd heard himself.

Nate swallowed.

Vanessa looked at him with wide, horrified eyes. Her hand raised like she was going to touch him.

The three of them sat there staring at each other in silence. Finally, Nate sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

"If it came down to it."

He winced at the pull of muscles in his back, but he'd had worse. He'd had much worse. Bleeding out on a battlefield that maybe now had a chance to never exist. The scars on his face. Finding his apartment in ashes. Finding the bodies. Oh, he'd had worse. Sharks were extinct by his time, but he liked the sound of them. Always moving forward.

"Where are you going?"

He paused in the doorway. Wade was looking at him. "There's a couch…" Nate said.

"At your age? I don't want to be responsible for your sciatica." Wade laughed weakly.

"Let's just all get some sleep," Vanessa said. She patted the bed. "Don't be shy."

It should have been awkward, but he was so tired. He didn't say anything when Wade curled into his side. Easier to both pretend to be asleep.

*

They got home--they got back to _the apartment_ \--in the afternoon. Vanessa drove. He was secretly grateful.

The shower was like heaven and smelled much less of mildew than the one at the Pink Pussycat. His bag of clothing was where he'd left it. He pulled on a t-shirt and a clean pair of sweats. He zipped the bag. Maybe he'd get some new clothing when he found another place. Try to look less like a hobo or whatever stupid thing Wade had called him.

Wade was watching him.

Nate watched him back. The sound of the shower was soothing in the background, but he could feel that twist in his gut still.

"You're packing," Wade said.

"Already packed."

"You could stay."

"You've got your girl back. The rift is closed. As far as we know, the temporal anomalies are gone."

He'd called Ellie from the car to check. She still sounded like an asshole teenager. Colossus had nagged. They'd both been relieved.

"Yeah, but who's going to make sure I eat a Real Breakfast™? See how I did that? Did you know you could pronounce a trademark symbol--tee--em."

Nate blinked. It was like he could see the symbol in the air. "Wade…" he said. "Look…"

"This industrial kitchen won't just use itself, you know!"

"About the last time… I didn't mean for it to go that far."

"It's okay. Nessa explained. You don't have to… We can have boring sex--I mean vanilla sex--I mean we can be buds. Best buds."

He inched forward during all this till he was only a foot away, vibrating with tension. Nate could feel the guilt coming off of him again. _Shit._

"Wade…"

"I know I'm a freak, but you don't have to go. You can stay. This is a huge apartment. Perfect for houseguests. We can totally hang a curtain. Put up a wall. You're good with tools, right? What am I saying: you're way too butch to not be good with tools."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Wade. I'm the one who…"

"I totally won't pressure you. It's fine. I won't even mention it."

"I know it was a bit…"

" _ **It was the best sex of my life!**_ "

Nate opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He goggled at Wade's earnest, distraught face, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

It was very quiet in the apartment. Almost silent without the sound of the shower.

Nate turned.

Vanessa stood in the doorway, wrapped in a towel.

"Second best?" said Wade in a small voice.

Nate hefted his bag. He'd stayed too long as it was.

"Wait," Wade called. "I meant it." He swiveled back to Vanessa. "I mean I didn't." He turned back to Nate. "Except, kind of. Oh, god. Do you ever just wish you could die?"

"There's only one solution," said Vanessa.

"We each drink a bottle of tequila and pretend this conversation never happened?"

"No, moron, a threesome."

"What?" Nate said. The bag hit the floor at his feet. He stared down at it stupidly.

"No knives. If you want blood, Wade, you are buying rubber sheets first. I don't care if you think black hides it. It gets all over the washing machine."

"Sure, okay, no knives." He sounded dazed.

"You." Vanessa pointed at Nate. "Step away from the duffel bag and get over here."

He found himself obeying. He scanned her. She was serious--and thinking something embarrassing about his t-shirt. It wasn't _that_ tight. Just in the arms where shirts never fit well. Wade radiated nervous tension behind him.

"How's your back?" Vanessa asked.

"Sore. Nothing too bad."

She considered him. "You can project sentences," she said. "What about sensations?"

"Most people find that disconcerting."

"Even during sex?"

" _Especially_ during sex. Different equipment… it's weird…"

"I've always wondered what it's like."

"You can do that?" Wade hovered at his elbow, obviously afraid to touch him.

"Not to someone with a healing factor. Not very well."

Vanessa slid her arms around Wade. "What do you say to a sandwich, baby?"

The noise he made in response went straight to Nate's dick.

"Okay, you." Vanessa crooked a finger. "Pants off, back against the headboard. Wade, get the lube."

Nate settled himself. She was even more open than usual as she slapped Wade on the ass and wrestled him for the lubricant. Nate slid into her mind. Maybe she'd been right about the copies, or maybe she was always this desperate. Wade was harder to read. There was reticence amidst the chaos. He still looked nervous when he glanced at Nate before Vanessa stuck her fingers in his ass and distracted him.

"I'm good, I'm good. Don't waste the whole tube!"

"I don't know, baby, he looks pretty big."

"I don't mind if it hurts."

"I do. You'll come before you even get it in me."

_Jesus._

"That's right," said Vanessa. "Up on the bed." She looked at Nate and raised her eyebrow.

He swallowed. "This might feel strange." He pushed, and her eyes widened. He squeezed his cock and felt her mind respond.

"Wow, are you…?" Wade looked from him to Vanessa.

"Oh my god, hurry up and sit on his dick," said Vanessa.

Wade's touch ghosted over his chest. Nate shivered. "How do you want to do this?" Nate asked.

Wade hesitated.

"No, you don't decide things. I decide things," Vanessa said. "Face me."

"God you're hot," Wade told her.

He settled back against Nate. He was warm and solid in Nate's arms. Vanessa was a buzz of excitement in his mind. Nate held himself steady while Wade pressed down. He was tight and silken and textured all at once. Nate groaned.

"Now hold still."

He felt her sliding onto Wade. It was a strange sensation: being inside of Wade and filled by him at the same time.

"Wow," said Vanessa. She rocked her hips experimentally. "We'll have to go slow. I'm not sure I'm coordinated enough for fast."

"Good plan," said Wade. "A++"

"Shh," said Vanessa. "Sex toys don't get to talk."

Healing factors made telepathy hard, not impossible. Nate felt the wave of lust roll off of him as clearly as if he'd been an ordinary human. Wade made an inarticulate noise of agreement.

"That's right. You be a good boy and stay hard for me."

She rocked more. Every time she moved, she shoved Wade down on Nate's dick. He clutched the headboard. It was hard to tell which one of them was which. He was one giant flow of pleasure. In Wade. On him. All around him. God, Wade was finally relaxing enough to let him in just a little. Nate ran a hand up his chest. Wade shuddered between them, his head thrown back on Nate's shoulder. He was so sensitive despite the scars. Nate tweaked his nipple, then twisted it savagely. He felt the bloom of desperate pleasure in Wade's mind.

Vanessa's mind was sharper, more intent. She watched the path of his fingers up and down Wade's chest. "Put your hand on his neck," she said. "The metal one."

He wasn't fast enough to catch his reaction. He knew she felt it: the dismay. And the lust.

Vanessa looked at him knowingly. "Rest your hand there. Let him feel it."

Wade was limp against him, projecting nervousness and want.

His skin was so warm and soft under Nate's hand. Nate stroked his neck lightly. He felt it echo through all three of them.

"That's good," said Vanessa. "It feels so hot. You feel so hot. I know you like it."

Wade moaned.

"Do you need it?" she asked. "To get off?"

The motion of her body was hypnotic.

"It's okay. You can do whatever you want to him. Anything at all." She stroked her hand over Nate's. "He can't say no."

She felt his shame and his fear and how his hips bucked up to meet her, grinding Wade between them. "You love it, don't you?" she said.

He squeezed, lightly. Wade shuddered between them. Nate could feel wariness in him, expectation.

"You've gotten a taste for it."

His face was red. He could feel it. But he couldn't deny what was in his head or his aching cock stuffed into Wade's too-tight hole.

"I'm not a monster," Nate said. His hand closed helplessly.

"It makes you feel powerful, doesn't it? Soon you'll need this every day."

He felt Wade's reaction to _that_. Christ!

"Hold still," Vanessa said. "We're going to use you as many times as we want, and there's nothing--"

Wade nearly unseated her with his flailing. He was incoherent with desire.

"I can feel how much you need it," Vanessa said. "It's okay. We'll do it together."

Her hand closed over his. She shouldn't have had the strength to move him, but he couldn't resist. He stared into her eyes. Wade was a quivering weight between them.

"He's nothing," said Vanessa. "Just meat."

He was _everything_.

Nate squeezed slowly. He could feel Wade's struggle as he fought for air. As he fought to get away, forcing himself up into Vanessa and back down onto Nate. Writhing and begging in his mind and trapped between them like a fragile butterfly stuck through with a pin. His hand fluttered helplessly against theirs. A starburst danced in his eyes, and he sagged against Nate's shoulder.

Vanessa panted. Nate's dead cock was still hard in her. "Go on," she said.

Wade softened around him, looser now in death. But he was still so slick and warm. Nate trembled.

"I want you to fuck his corpse," she said. "I want you to come in him while he's--"

_God._

His orgasm rippled through her and back to him, magnified. He poured himself into Wade and lay there empty.

Vanessa watched him.

She was still in his head, and she wanted more. More of the awful things he felt and did and this moment after orgasm when it all came crashing down on him.

She cupped his cheek in her hand. "Hey…" she said gently.

Wade stirred in his arms.

His pulse beat against Nate's hand where he still cradled him. His lungs expanded and he sucked in a breath. He was so warm and still so hard inside Vanessa. He made a little inquiring noise and nuzzled Nate's cheek.

"You were so good, baby," Vanessa whispered. "So good for us." She began to rock again.

Wade hummed in agreement. Nate could feel his hand on her waist through their connection, pleasantly rough against her smooth skin.

Nate was softening, slipping out.

A thread of surprise from Wade: "Did you… While I was…?"

"Yeah." He wrapped both arms around Wade's chest. "That a problem?"

"God no. It's really hot… _Oh._ "

Vanessa clenched around him again.

"Fighting over my attention already?" Wade asked her.

Vanessa laughed and rode him. Nate held him for her while the two of them shuddered through their orgasms.

*

"Did you know that necrophilia isn't illegal in New Jersey?" Vanessa said a while later. "The only charge is desecrating a corpse, and only if it would offend reasonable family sensibilities."

"Jesus."

" _We're_ Wade's family."

"What have I gotten myself into?" Wade asked. He sounded pleased.

"Nothing about either of you is reasonable," Nate informed her.

"Mm hmm. You're the voice of reason. Totally," she mumbled. She was falling asleep.

"Ness always rolls over and goes to sleep after," Wade said. "Me, I like to cuddle and talk about our future, but what's a girl to do?"

Nate snorted.

Wade drew little circles on Nate's chest. They lay there for a while in silence.

"I'm glad it was you," Wade said. He looked up. "Chrome dome means well, but he's not… creative. And I… I couldn't have… They all looked just like her."

"I would have done whatever I needed to to unfuck this timeline."

"Yeah. I know. But you waited. You didn't just…"

"Call it my good deed for the century," he said, suddenly awkward again.

"You know what they say: The only good deed is a dead deed."

"No one says that."

"Okay, the only quiet deed..."

"...is one not involving you," Nate finished.

He was sweaty and gross. Vanessa snored next to them, loud and unladylike. Wade watched her with that goofy look back on his face.

"Speaking of the future, you sure I'm not going to be a third wheel?" Nate asked gruffly.

Wade looked at him with that same expression on his face. It was like a fist in the gut. Wade's arm tightened around him. "You're not going anywhere," he said, but it sounded like a question.

Nate smiled. "No, I guess not."

**The End**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, dudes! I couldn't have kept going without you.
> 
> Deadpool hit me like a bolt of lightning to the brain, but that kind of inspiration only gets you so far. As this fic was metastacizing a plot, the ~taboo kink~ channel in the Discord had wank over _joking_ about Russell/Juggernaut. You'd think that a space devoted to talking about snuff and skullfucking with an explicit policy against kinkshaming would not cave to the first passive-aggressive purity crusader who happened along. You'd be wrong.
> 
> It really showed me how much I am _not_ valued and _not_ safe outside of AO3.
> 
> If there can be sudden backlash against discussing something as mainstream as teenagers having sexual thoughts--and let's be real, most of us discovered our freaky kinks at that age--then any kink could be on the chopping block next. If a space can't live up to its own no-kinkshaming policy in the face of blatant emotional manipulation, then none of us are safe. No amount of "Underage is a special exception" will erase that: conflating teenage sexuality with "pedophilia" is a tumblr habit that serves only to make abusers safer (more camouflage from all the things being conflated with them) and to support kooky religious right agendas that are against sex ed and against personal sexual choices (both choices to say yes and to say no). Unlike fiction or discussion, purity wank is both immoral and dangerous. It should never be welcome in fandom, much less in a space set aside for discussing triggery things… And in _Deadpool_ fandom no less!
> 
> Deadpool can make a joke about Russell getting raped in prison, but we can't discuss teen sexuality? _Jesus._
> 
> It made me really question whether I wanted to provide entertainment for the kind of fandom that lets an asshole come in and intentionally ruin the kink space. (That channel has been nearly dead since. Quelle surprise.) But, eventually, this plotbunny and a constant rotation of Pat Benatar songs were too strong, and I finished the fic anyway.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking it out with me!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. D.A.R.Y.L. is a way more terrible movie than I remembered. Child me is very sad right now.


End file.
